


Tongue-Tied And White Lie Addicted

by fourdrunksluts



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: :), Alternate Universe, Angst, Daddy Kink, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourdrunksluts/pseuds/fourdrunksluts
Summary: “This isn’t a date,” Michael insists. His stomach feels like it’s fluttering, and he doesn’t like it one bit. “I don’t go on dates, okay?”“We’re just two friends getting coffee,” Ashton agrees. He’s nodding along, eyes understanding, but Michael needs to make sure he truly gets it.“And not having sex.”Ashton laughs. “Oh we’re not?” He says it so casually, like he’s not causing Michael inner turmoil just by paying for his coffee. “A shame.”-Michael's just finished his undergrad and is ready to stop messing around with strangers and get more serious about his studies as he prepares for his dream job. No relationships, no sex. Which is harder than it sounds when Ashton Irwin comes into his life.





	Tongue-Tied And White Lie Addicted

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _Heavy_ by POWERS 
> 
> I'd of course like to thank my amazing betas [Theo](http://roseszain.tumblr.com) and [Maia](http://reversecow.tumblr.com) for helping me fine tune this fic.
> 
> I know absolutely nothing about medical school, so there's gonna be a lot of inaccuracies.

When Luke and Calum decided not to move in together until Luke finished law school and they were ready to settle down and start a life together, Michael was grateful. It saved him the effort of having to move out of his and Calum's apartment, and left him feeling secure for the next three or so years. Not to mention, with how terrible Calum and Luke were together already - living together would make spending any time with either of them unbearable. 

Over the summer, when Luke was crashing on their couch (read: Calum's bed) as he searched for a roommate, Michael stayed as supportive as he could, giving honest feedback about what kind of people to stay away from, and what neighborhoods were safe enough. It’s the least he could do for his best friend’s boyfriend, and it was only a bit of trouble to spare the extra bit of help. 

Which is why Michael’s so upset he’s being forced to help Luke move in. 

All those weeks of scouring Craigslist and giving up potential hook-ups all to help Luke scout for a building were for  _ nothing _ if not to keep him from hard labor. 

Instead of spending the day in bed, enjoying his last week of freedom before he’s due to start his first year of medical school, he’s climbing into the back of the stuffy moving truck, feeling his shirt immediately begin to stick to his skin in the sweltering heat. If he’s going to be forced to help, he plans on doing the least amount of effort. 

So he starts by handing boxes off to Calum and Luke and pretending to organize the rest of Luke’s belongings as they go retrieve his new roommate. 

Luke met Ashton Irwin in a coffee shop. Or, really, he met Ashton over Craigslist, and they grabbed a cup of coffee together before going to check out the apartment. Ashton, just like Luke, Calum, and Michael, just graduated from a four year university. That’s as far as Michael’s knowledge of Ashton goes, really. He doesn’t remember anything Luke had said about him other than he was built of bricks and candy drops, which makes absolutely no sense to Michael. 

At least, until a body joins him in the back of the truck, and Michael suddenly knows why birds sing and why the sun rises, and why Calum's so keen on helping Luke lift heavy boxes and furniture all afternoon. 

He suddenly realizes it’s because this man in the truck has kind eyes, a genuinely beautiful smile, and arms that have Michael wondering just how difficult it would be to sneak away and let Ashton fuck him into the wall until they were both too exhausted to move. 

And the look Ashton’s giving him leads Michael to believe Ashton’s not exactly opposed to the idea. 

“You must be Ashton, then?” 

“Yeah, Hi.” Ashton reaches out to shake Michael’s hand, but there are boxes in the way, so the angle is awkward, making it more of a hold than a shake. Ashton chuckles, pulling his hand back to himself. “You’re Michael, right?” 

“Right.”

Michael lets his eyes roam Ashton’s body, taking note of all the strength he’s showing, even just standing there. He can’t wait to watch Ashton in action, carrying these boxes into the building, a preview for later when he’s holding Michael’s body against the wall and -

“Well I’d better get to it, then,” Ashton gestures to the boxes sitting in front of him. It’s not a very heavy one, the label on it reading ‘ _ bathroom _ ’ meaning it’s mostly just half-empty bottles of hair product and more headbands than any one person should own. 

Michael bites back his disappointment at Ashton’s choice. “Don’t want to keep his highness waiting.” 

Ashton grins, jumping out of the truck and landing solidly on his feet, not stumbling whatsoever. Balance, strength,  _ plenty _ of walls to lean on. It’s the perfect recipe. 

After watching Ashton disappear into the building, Michael gets to work separating boxes and getting a system going. Which is, to say, he puts the heaviest ones at the front of the truck for the others to grab as he places the lightest ones towards the back for himself to get later when he’s inevitably dragged out to help. At least at that point, he won’t have to do any heavy lifting. 

He’s mostly here for moral support, really. 

He’s just pushed some of the heavier, bigger boxes to the edge when Luke gets back and tries to jump in the truck. Michael stops him before he can get too far and ruin Michael’s system before it’s all set. 

“Wait, no.” He holds his hands out, and Luke stops, arms bent sideways, about to launch himself up. “I’ve got a very important organizational system, and I’d rather you not mess it up.”

“What’s there to organize?” Luke’s looking around, and Michael hopes it’s not too apparent that the boxes of pillows and toiletries and mementos from his and Calum's relationship (stuffed animals and love letters) are shoved in the back. 

Not planning on giving himself away, Michael glares at Luke, walking closer to disrupt his line of sight. “Calum and I came out all this way to help you and you’re going to question me?” 

Luke narrows his eyes. “You’re not - ”

“Luke, I don’t have time to argue,” Michael shouts, far louder and more petulant than necessary, before Luke can accuse him of anything. “I’m sweating in here. I’d rather be upstairs, quite honestly.” 

“I’m telling Calum.”

Biting back a laugh, Michael throws his hands out dramatically. “I’d love for you to do that, Luke. Please go tattle on me to your boyfriend for helping you out.” It has him feeling a bit like Calum, and despite the similarity to his boyfriend, Luke turns to walk away. “At least take a box.” 

Luke does. It’s done with a scowl on his face and a tense set to his shoulders, but he slides one of the heavier boxes down and struggles bringing it inside. Michael laughs at the absurdity of it, of his anger, and kicks another box in place of the one Luke took. 

In the distance, he can see Ashton holding the door open for Luke and then making his way back over. He grabs for a box, smiling at Michael, and turns to go back towards the apartment before Michael can really even admire the strain of his muscles. 

“So what do you do?”

At Michael’s sudden question, Ashton turns back around, his left eyebrow quirking up in a look of confusion. “Sorry, what?” 

He doesn’t set the box back down, Michael notices, and it’s a blessing in itself because Ashton’s arms are a gift from God. He’s clearly struggling to keep his grip, but that just makes it a better show for Michael, that though it’s tough to keep it all held up, he’s managing to do it, letting Michael watch. 

And Michael feels no guilt whatsoever, not when Ashton’s t-shirt frames his biceps perfectly, the fabric just barely holding it all in. 

“Just, uh,” Michael stutters, having to clear his throat to actually get the words out. “What do you do? For work.”

“Oh,” Ashton grins like there’s nothing wrong. Like he’s not holding up a heavy box and letting a practical stranger ogle him like a show horse. “Right now I’m interning at a publishing house.”

“So you want to be a publisher?”

“Editor, yeah, in the future, hopefully. Right now it’s just coffee runs and late nights reviewing manuscripts that have no chance of getting published.”

Michael’s not much for small talk, doesn’t care how the weather is or where somebody’s parents are visiting for Christmas. It all seems so unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. The people who he would normally talk about these things with are potential partners, people he wants in his bed. And he doesn’t need to know somebody’s alma mater to get laid. All he needs to know is whether or not it’s consensual, and who’s house is closest.

That being said, he doesn’t mind it with Ashton. Listening to his voice isn’t a hardship, and while tomorrow he won’t give a second thought to Ashton’s internship, it doesn’t feel like a chore to hear it now. 

“Sounds rough.”

“Gotta start somewhere, right?” Ashton smiles, his eyes a deep hazel, lighting up the shaded truck bed, and Michael would very much like to pull him up here for a few minutes. There’s a box of pillows hidden a few feet back if Ashton prefers it laying down - 

Those arms say he doesn’t, though.  

Ashton doesn’t leave, must not think his words to be the end of the conversation, and Michael happily watches him trying to handle the box in his arms. “Is that box even heavy?”

“Insanely, actually,” Ashton chuckles, looking down at where his hands are gripping the bottom. “Don’t know why I’m still holding it.”

“To show off, maybe?”

Ashton laughs loudly at that, his head leaning back and the long line of his neck, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, is put on display. Michael wants to lick it. “Don’t think I need to show off. You were staring before I even grabbed a box.”

“I was,” Michael says with no shame. If Ashton thought his accusation was going to fluster Michael, he’s dead wrong. “I’ve got a bit of a thing for men that can hold me against a wall.” 

The box slips in Ashton grips, Michael’s words clearly affecting him. With the box, so slides his mouth, lips parting. Michael chuckles at Ashton’s inability to keep his cool, and Ashton’s eyes narrow, looking almost hooded. 

“Well you’re rather slim,” Ashton comments, his voice much darker than it was just a moment ago.  

“But I can be a handful.”

Ashton licks his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth at Michael’s blatant propositioning, but before he can say anything, an annoyed voice is yelling, “ _ Michael _ ,” and a body is stomping down the sidewalk. 

It seems like Luke really  _ did _ tattle. 

At Calum's arrival, Ashton clears his throat and raises his hold on the box. “I should bring this upstairs then.” 

Ashton walks away, and as lovely as it is to see his back muscles moving under his t-shirt, Michael’s fun is not long-lived, Calum getting in his line of sight, eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up. “What the fuck, Michael?” 

“What the fuck, me? What the fuck  _ you _ !” Michael gestures wildly at Calum, jumping out of the truck, ready to yell at his best friend. “I was working something with him.”

“Already?” The scowl drops from his face quickly, leaving behind parted lips and eyes wide in shock. “We’ve been here like ten minutes.”

“I work fast.”

“Yeah, well.” Calum shakes his head once, shrugging, before the purse of his lips is back. “You don’t work at all, my boy tells me.” 

Michael rolls his eyes. “I’m sorting through the boxes to give Luke and Ashton the heavy ones.” He’d actually planned on giving Calum the heavy ones as well, but having him on Michael’s side is better than being forced to start helping.

Calum doesn’t react as thankful and joyously as Michael had been expecting, his eyebrows furrowing as he yells, “That’s fucked up.” But Michael knows it’s just him being defensive for his boyfriend, and he’s certain he can change his mind. 

“So you don’t want Luke’s box of leather jackets?” He asks. He reaches for the largest box up front and continues, “Would you rather his photography equipment?” Calum narrows his eyes. “All these books he owns…”

“Alright,” Calum snaps. His hand reaches out and pushes back the heavy box. “Hand over the fucking coats.” Michael laughs, jumping back in the truck and grabbing the coats from their hiding place and hands it to Calum. “If Luke asks, I gave you a talking to you.”

“My ears are still ringing from the yelling,” Michael replies, as monotonous as he can possibly get.

“Right, well.” 

Calum makes his way towards the door, and Michael leans against the wall of the truck, waiting for Luke to come back out and see that nothing’s changed, that he can snitch all he wants but Michael won’t be made to do anything he doesn’t want to. 

As Calum's approaching the front door of the building, Luke and Ashton both come out together. Michael has to hold in laughter as Calum immediately bends backwards, acting like the box is heavy. It’s ridiculous, and for someone who once drunkenly professed he wanted to be in a movie, he’s doing a terrible job at acting. 

When Luke and Ashton approach the truck, Michael’s still leaning against the wall, arms folded. He’s smirking, feeling far too powerful for such a small victory. 

Ashton drums his hands on the metal floor of the truck, not taking notice of the tension between Luke and Michael. “Load me up.” 

“Did Cal talk to you?” Luke asks, leaving Ashton’s comment unnoticed. 

“He sure did,” Michael grins. “I learned my lesson.” He kicks Luke’s camera equipment over, making it teeter on the edge so Luke has to grab it. “Now go.” Luke adjusts his grip on the box and takes it into the apartment, but not before glaring at Michael. 

“What’ve you got for me then?” Ashton asks. 

It’s entirely self-indulgent of him to kick the heaviest box over, Luke’s literary collection, but Michael doesn’t feel a lick of guilt, not even when he has trouble himself with the box. “Think you can handle it?”

“I’m not some muscle boy you can exploit for your viewing pleasure,” Ashton argues, but he’s grinning, and Michael knows he doesn’t mind. 

“You absolutely are.” As Ashton laughs and hauls the box up, Michael hums, eyes raking down Ashton’s body. “You show promise.”

The box slips and Ashton adjusts it, still laughing. It’s disgusting how absolutely adorable Michael finds it then. He heads towards the door, and Michael bites his lip as Ashton struggles, trying to open it. 

As he’s contemplating getting out of the truck to go and help, Ashton backs up and the door opens, Calum stepping out. Michael hears Ashton’s surprised “That was fast,” and he has to bite back a grin. 

Calum shakes his head and makes his way back to the truck. His eyes are dancing in amusement and there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Gave him the heaviest one?” 

“I just wanted to see if he could.” Michael shrugs. His eyes wander back to the front of building, and he sighs. He wants Ashton and his arms to come back already. Even if he has to deal with Calum's obnoxious laughter to make it happen. 

“The summer’s not even over and you’re already sorting out your next fuck,” Calum says, head shaking. “I miss those days.” 

It’s said in a completely well-meaning way, a bit of humor maybe, but there’s not an ounce of malice in his voice. Even so, Michael suddenly feels incredibly defensive at the insinuation. He narrows his eyes and feels his shoulders set tensely. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

And perhaps his words come out a bit harshly, a snap to them that has Calum leaning back, shock painted all over his face. Even so, Michael doesn’t feel himself relaxing. 

“Don’t be so upset, Mikey.” Calum steps forward a bit, and suddenly Michael doesn’t want to be in the back of this truck. “I was just saying that you sleep around during the school year. It’s not a bad thing - I did the same before Luke.”  

“I don’t sleep around.”

“Yes, you do.” Again, it’s not an accusation or an insult. Calum's stating it like a fact. “It’s not a bad thing, really.” 

“I don’t sleep around,” Michael repeats. He feels like he needs to defend himself. “I have meaningful connections - ”

Calum's lips thin, his face falling flat as he cuts Michael off. “The longest relationship you had was with Geordie in junior year, and that barely lasted over a month.”  

Michael doesn’t know what to say, how to counter that. He doesn’t think he  _ can _ counter that. He and Geordie weren’t together long, and even so, she was the closest thing he had to a committed relationship. He didn’t realize until now just how that may make him come off to people. 

He’s not a bad person, he doesn’t think. He doesn’t lead people on, making them think he’s in it for the long run only to slip out in the middle of the night. He always enjoys breakfast with his overnight partners, and his hookups in the club always leave thoroughly satisfied. It’s not that he’s  _ trying _ to be a serial dater, a villain of monogamy, it’s just… 

“I fall in love fast.”

Calum laughs suddenly, and the disbelief in his voice hurts. “No, you don’t.” Michael narrows his eyes again. “Honestly, you’re taking this much harder than you should. You fuck around and serial date, and it’s okay. I’m sex positive, if you don’t remember, and I’d never judge you. I was just making an observation.”

“Are you - ”

Before Michael can finish his question, can really even process Calum's words, he sees Ashton and Luke making their way down the sidewalk. He’d forgotten exactly where they are there and what they’re doing, too busy scrambling to find an example of even one person he’s felt genuine romantic love for and coming up empty. 

“What’s all the hold up?” Ashton asks. 

Michael throws two of the heavy boxes out and Luke looks between them, taking notice of the looseness of Calum and the tense set of Michael’s shoulders. His mouth forms an ‘o’ before he’s reaching for a box. “You don’t want to get in the middle of this, Ash. It’ll get messy.”

Ashton looks between Calum and Michael for a moment before he follows Luke’s lead, grabbing a box as well and making his way inside. Michael watches, the muscles in his face straining to keep his mouth shut until they disappear inside of the apartment. 

The very moment the door is closed, Michael’s turning to Calum, eyes slitted and distress dripping from his tongue. “Why do you care?”

“Who said I did?” Calum asks after leaning back from the intensity of Michael’s question. “I  _ don’t _ . I was making a joke about how quickly you moved in on Luke’s fit roommate, and you turned it into a fight.”

“I just don’t think you know what you’re talking about, to be honest.” 

Calum's mouth tenses, and his eyes suddenly hold a scrutiny Michael isn’t a fan of. “When’s the last time you went out to eat by yourself?” 

“What?”

“Or got off alone,” Calum continues, a humorless laugh falling from his lips, “or went a week without finding someone to warm your dick?” 

Michael thinks, tries to remember that last time he had his hand around himself, the last time he chose to take a long, hot shower instead of finding someone through an app on his phone. Hell, the last meal he had that wasn’t at home or with somebody else had to have been in freshman year of college, just before he met Calum. The thought is enough to terrify him.

“I - I don’t know.” 

“Because you’re still in that stage of life where you want to have no-strings-attached fun.” Calum's speaking as though he’s not ripping away the curtains and exposing Michael’s life for the sad, pathetic mess it is. “And it’s fine, Michael, nobody’s saying it isn’t. It’s just where you’re at.”

“How do I - ” He’s always knows he spent a lot of time out with others, slept with a lot of people, and never stayed in the company of a single person for more than a few weeks at most. It’s just never seemed bad until now. “What do I do to move past it?”

Calum shrugs. “Mine ended when I met Luke, but seeing as you didn’t even know you slept around - again, not judging - I don’t think you’re ready for a relationship.”

It’s unfair, he thinks. Calum's smiling, and Michael feels like he shouldn’t be having such an easy time with this. He’s single handedly tearing apart Michael’s dating life with a few choice words, and it’s like he isn’t even bothered. 

Back in the early years of college, Calum used to date around a lot too. He used to be Michael’s partner in crime and they’d go to the clubs together, scope out potentials, and both leave satisfied. It’s a life they’ve both lived, yet Calum never had this breakdown. Not that Michael knows of, at least.

He’s not sure why it’s hitting him so hard, can’t pinpoint exactly why he’s so anguished at this discovery, but he feels lost suddenly, like he doesn’t know where to go from here, how to move past this. 

“Then what do I do?”

“I don’t know, Michael!” Calum's laughing, but it’s less joyful as it usually is. Michael thinks, maybe, the severity of Michael’s feelings on the topic at hand have finally hit him. “Date yourself, maybe? Try focusing on yourself and school. Set a time limit on how long you want to focus on yourself and just do it. I don’t know what you want me to say, man. I’m not an expert.”

And that… 

That doesn’t sound terrible. Michael thinks then that maybe the reason he’s so upset with Calum's accusation - a rightful one at that - is not because he’s found so many to sleep around with, but because he’s lost himself in the meantime. He can’t remember the last time he saw a movie that he wanted to see, or went out to the bar to grab a few drinks and watch the game. 

Everything he’s done since beginning college has been with the intention of being in the company of someone else, of gaining another notch in his bedpost. Now that’s finished his undergrad, now that he’s going to medical school and working towards his career, he should be more mature. 

Fuck. 

Calum's right. He needs to grow up, needs to stop fucking around with strangers. There’s more to life than a good lay, and Michael’s lost the motivation to discover any of it. 

He needs time, time to be him, to learn what he enjoys and what he doesn’t. He needs to focus on himself, to  _ find _ himself. He needs to get through med school and work for his future, not for a good dicking in a bed he’s never going to see again. 

He needs to stop and start over. 

“Can I have a box while you go through this moment of self realization?” Calum asks, pulling Michael from his thoughts. “There’s only so long I can stand here before Luke starts to think it’s a tactic to avoid work.”

Michael rolls his eyes and pushes a tall box over, not caring that it’s heavy and he promised Calum the light stuff. It doesn’t matter when he’s got better things on his mind. Calum mumbles under his breath and struggles to grab ahold of it, but he makes his way inside. 

Instead of going back into his head, of slinking away and worrying himself silly, he makes a decision. He’s going to give up dating, give up sex. He’ll be celibate - at least until he finishes medical school. He wants to settle down someday, loves the idea of a spouse and a dog. Maybe a couple of kids when things get good. 

But he doesn’t want that now. And what’s the point in sleeping around if not with the intention of settling down? 

Michael jumps from the truck and grabs his box, a distracted smile on his face as he thinks of the life-changing decision he’s just made. 

He works with the other three, and it only takes another forty minutes to have everything unloaded and set in the proper rooms of his apartment. The entire time he says nothing, which isn’t too uncharacteristic for him, but he knows Calum can see the distraction etched on his face. 

After they're done, as Luke carries the last box and all that’s left is a lamp and a loose drawer, Ashton steps up to Michael with a smile and helps him out of the truck. He’s been trying to speak to Michael for a minute, but Michael’s been avoiding him. “Thanks.” 

Michael pulls the door down and turns to walk, but Ashton’s scrambling voice stops him. “Hey, Michael, wait a second.” 

It’s not until he stops walking and faces Ashton that he realizes exactly what he’s missing out on. Giving up sex, giving up strangers, feels like it shouldn’t count Ashton, but it does. It definitely does. And suddenly Michael wants to rethink his decision if only to christen Luke’s flat in the roughest way possible. 

“I don’t know if you’d want to maybe go get coffee sometime or - ”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Ashton,” Michael says before he can second guess himself. He made a choice and he’s going to keep it. He’s nothing if not determined. “I’m not putting out.”

Ashton’s eyes widen at the bite of Michael’s tone. “I didn’t think…” he trails off when he takes notice of Michael’s raised eyebrows. “Okay, well, I  _ did _ , but I’m alright with just seeing where - ”

“I’m not into dating, either. Sorry.”

“So all of that earlier?” Ashton waves to the closed truck, and Michael feels guilty. He looks sad, a  bit mislead, and all of it could have been prevented if only Michael could go a day without trying to fuck the first person he saw. 

“That wasn’t me, man. I’m not…” He’s aware his words don’t make sense, that he only sounds incoherent and confusing, but he doesn’t know how else to say it, how else to express his regretful disinterest in seeing Ashton. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Michael leaves Ashton on the sidewalk and doesn’t look back. 

He doesn’t look back for quite a long time. 

➻

Just over a year and a half later, and Michael thinks his choice is paying off. It’s been a long road, one with many struggles and temptations, but it’s been alright. It definitely gets easier as time goes on, he knows for sure, but it’s all paying off.

When he was getting his undergrad, Michael wasn’t too stressed out. The work was simple and he spent his free time going out and meeting new people to hook up with. At the time it was the epitome of a good time, and he really thought he was living his life to the fullest. Looking back, though, he doesn’t think he was doing much living at all. 

Medical school is kicking his ass. It seems like every week he has another test that his future career depends on. There’s no room for error, and Michael spends most of his days at a desk - whether at school, at home, or in the library - with his head buried deep in the pages of a medical sciences book, studying his ass off and hoping he’s doing enough to retain the information. On the odd chance that he manages to get a night off, he uses that breath of fresh air to spend time getting to know himself. 

That’s what all of this was about in the first place, of course. He’s trying to find himself, discover who he is as a person, completely separate from the people he falls into bed with. 

He doesn’t think it’s working, though. 

That’s not to say he’s not grateful for the opportunity. Every dinner he eats alone and the self-expression walk he takes is something he can’t take for granted, not when it’s allowing him room to grow. 

He really misses sex sometimes. 

“You have to come out tonight.” 

Michael looks up from where he’s been highlighting passages in his textbook to see Calum standing in front of him, hands planted on his waist. He stands tall and his chest is much broader than it was when just a few years before, but he’s smiling and his hair has gone funny - not intimidating in the least. 

“Aren’t you all just celebrating Ashton’s promotion?” Michael asks, his nose tilted up. “Why would I want to go?”

Ashton, of course, is another story entirely. After their initial meeting in which Michael realized he’d been spending too much time and energy on meaningless hook-ups, he found it hard for them to be near each other. Especially when Ashton always has such a friendly demeanor because Michael knows it doesn’t matter how kind his eyes are - those arms could hold hold Michael down and give it to him good. 

After he’d turned down Ashton’s invitation for a date, he stayed away. Dinners at Luke’s, nights out at the bar - Michael said goodbye. It was a smart move at first, giving up any opportunity to be near the temptation of hooking up with anybody, but lately he’s felt a bit lonely. He only really has Calum and sometimes Luke, and it’d be nice to have someone else in the mix. 

But the risk is too big. 

So Michael keeps his distance, focuses on his school work - and occasionally, himself - and doesn’t spare much thought to Ashton Irwin and his alarmingly disarming smile or the way his nose crinkles when he laughs or his  _ ridiculous _ body… 

No thoughts at all. 

“To get out of the house,” Calum answers his question, maintaining his determined eye contact. It does little to persuade Michael. “To give your mind a break, to get completely wasted and have fun for once.”

“We went to that art fair last week.” Michael points the capped end of his highlighter at Calum. “That was fun.”

Across the counter from him, Calum pouts, his hands falling as he mutters to himself, “That  _ was _ fun.” 

“See?” Michael grins. He holds his hands out beside him, palms face up. “I’m alright to stay here. Study a bit.” 

“You’ve been studying all day.” 

Michael fights the urge to laugh at Calum's huffy comment. All day is definitely an understatement. Michael’s been studying since the very moment classes started during his first year of med school. He’s a ball of stress and medical terminology, and if Calum's trying to prove a point, he’s doing a very poor job at it. 

“It’s almost like the medical field is a lot of work.” Raising his brows moves Michael’s clear glasses down his nose, and he has to push them back up. “Imagine that.” 

For a moment, Calum glares at Michael, and then - “Just for that comment, you’re coming out.” 

“I’m not, but you’re awfully convincing,” Michael grins. “Tell me what to do again, I’m sure it’ll work this time.”

Not seeming to find as much amusement as Michael in their exchange, Calum stomps his foot. “You used to be so much fun,” he huffs, stepping forward and placing his hands on the edge of the counter. “Remember when we’d go out and you’d end up on your knees in a bathroom stall?”

Thinking about that time in his life makes Michael’s stomach turn. He doesn’t know how their one conversation in the back of the moving truck managed to do it, but in the past year and half, the idea of hooking up with a stranger makes Michael feel ill. Sure, he still misses the feeling of a warm body next to him as he sleeps, but the thought of finding that with a stranger doesn’t settle with him. 

Going celibate - a term he doesn’t love but is essentially what he’s doing - hasn’t exactly helped him find himself yet, but he’s still learned a bit of what he’s about. 

And he’s not about giving head to strangers in a bar on ‘half-priced Tuesday’. 

“I can’t believe I did that.”

“And so often too.” While Michael’s smile dropped off his face, the moment Calum mentioned his previous sexual deviancy, Calum started to grin with his reminiscing. “Remember sophomore year when that girl came over to our table to compliment Luke’s Cobain shirt and you had her in an Uber like five minutes later.” 

Michael sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “These aren’t good memories for me, man. I could’ve caught an STI or something.”

“An unplanned pregnancy.”

“That too.” The thought makes Michael nauseous. He sighs again, hoping to convey to Calum just how done with this conversation he wants to be. “Look, man. I’m just trying to finish med school before I worry about my next fuck.” 

_ “Med school _ .” Calum's jaw loosens and falls open a bit. “That’s two and a half more years.” 

The absurdity on Calum's face makes Michael want to laugh. He’s never seen anybody be so offended at his own choices. “Add an extra three if you count my residency.” 

“We are  _ not _ counting your residency,” Calum bites, and Michael actually does laugh at that. “Come on.” He walks around the edge of the counter and grabs for Michael’s forearm. 

Seeing his goal to physically pull Michael away from his work, Michael avoids his grip easily. “I really don’t have time for this Calum.”

“It’s  _ Friday _ ,” Calum says, reaching unsuccessfully for Michael’s arms again. “You have two more days to study - ”

“And I haven’t even started,” Michael cuts him off. He gestures to the books laid out in front of him. “I’m still trying to fill out my study guide.”

Calum reaches out again, and this time he manages to wrap his hand around Michael’s wrist and tug him off the chair. “Doesn’t matter. I’m getting you out of the house.” 

“You’re trying to get me laid - ”

“Well it wouldn’t hurt,” Calum replies. Michael scoffs, pulling his arm free and backing away from Calum, not sitting back down just yet. “Look, I respect your decision to focus on school and to fuck yourself or whatever.” Michael rolls his eyes at Calum's complete disregard for his celibacy. “But if you stay inside and do nothing but work, then you’re going to wake up in your thirties resentful of the fact that you wasted your youth.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Michael groans. He feels a lot of his fight leaving him though. There’s a part of him that knows Calum's right, that knows living with his head in his books isn’t doing his psyche any favors. 

He only wishes Ashton wouldn’t be there to tempt him. 

“I’m not…” Calum trails off, stomping his foot again. “ _ Look _ . You can leave after two hours, but please,  _ please _ give it a try. I refuse to watch you run yourself ragged.”

It’s not Calum's stroppy attitude that has him caving, it’s the thought that spending his time studying and getting himself off isn’t doing anything to help him find himself, and he thinks maybe Calum has a point about going out and having fun. 

“Fine,” Michael agrees. “But you’re buying all of my drinks.” 

“I - ” At Calum's hesitance, Michael glares. If he’s going to be around Ashton all night, he deserves to not have to pay. “Yes, absolutely.”

Michael nods and reaches over to close his book. “And you’ll make sure I’m not alone with Ashton?” 

“Yeah, what’s up with that, by the way?” Calum asks. Michael doesn’t answer, only moves to make his way into the living room. Calum follows eagerly. “It’s been nearly two years, and you’ve had maybe three conversations with Ashton.” 

“Five, actually.”

“He thinks you hate him.”

The thought that Ashton thinks Michael hates him has Michael chewing the inside of his cheek. In the brief exchanges they’ve had, Michael can tell that Ashton’s nothing short of wonderful. He’s kind, a little silly, and always has his friends’ best interests in mind. 

And his Instagram is filled with pictures of art. 

Not that Michael spends much time looking, or even thinks about it much. It’s just nice that amidst his shirtless selfies and photos of bookstores across the city, Ashton takes the time to post snapshots of different art he sees on the street and on the cover of various books he reads.  

A man that sweet, that endearing, shouldn’t have to worry about anybody hating him. It just doesn’t seem right. Though it’s much easier to have him think that than to explain that Michael can’t last through a single conversation with him without thinking about climbing into his lap. 

“Yeah, well…” Michael trails off, shrugging. “If the shoe fits.”

Calum pushes his shoulder and laughs once; a short, cut-off thing. “Come  _ on _ . You don’t hate him, you just want to fuck him.”

He’s not wrong, which is exactly why Michael’s been avoiding Ashton. “And if I’m not fucking him, then I’m what?” He asks. He bends over and grabs his shoes from where they’re sitting next to the door, doing his best not to have to look at Calum. “Talking to him? Getting to know his life and his interests all while holding back my own interest in him?”

“Yeah, so?”

“That’s called  _ pining _ and I don’t do that,” He says, a bite to his tone. “It’s too close to dating.” 

“Jesus, and you call  _ me  _ dramatic…” Calum laughs, watching Michael slip his shoes on his feet. “You do know it’s possible to be friends with someone you’re attracted to, right? You’re friends with me.” 

Michael can’t help but laugh at that. “You’re not my type.” He starts to make his way to the front door, leaving Calum behind him to gasp. 

“Are you saying you wouldn’t fuck me, Clifford?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just starts to rush after Michael making his way down the stairs in the hallway. “And what are you wearing, really?” 

Living in Chicago has its ups and downs. It’s more expensive than his hometown in southern Illinois, and it’s not ideal to live so far from his family, but it’s a quick bus ride to his campus, and they live near the heart of the city so grocery shopping and late night Thai food cravings are a non issue. 

It’s late March and the weather’s been nice as of late, but the remnants of winter are still lingering, and the breeze off of Lake Michigan doesn’t help to make the air any warmer. Even with the streets crowded, filled with students out to drink away their worries and parents out to celebrate a Friday night without their kids, the air is chilled and Michael finds himself hugging his hoodie tightly to his body and they walk the five blocks to the bar. 

Calum isn’t much in the way of a conversationalist, too busy using his mouth to huff warm breaths on his shaking fingers. 

When they reach the noisy, overcrowded bar, Michael’s too grateful for the sudden warmth to even remember why he didn’t want to come in the first place. In fact, he isn’t reminded of his reasoning until he and Calum approach a table in the back corner, and Michael’s standing directly in front of the reason. 

Ashton Irwin is every bit as attractive as Michael remembers him to be. If there were ever a Sex God inspired teddy bear, Michael likes think they’d use Ashton’s face as a general mold for it. Not his body though - that’s far too hard to ever be anything than a washboard. 

Or Michael’s personal pillow. 

“Michael, hey,” Ashton says, and Michael’s fantasies are cut short. Ashton’s hand is sitting in between them and Michael give it an odd look. They’ve met before and shaking hands sounds like unnecessary touching. 

Instead of looking angry or offended that Michael doesn’t return his greeting, Ashton only frowns. A wrinkle forms in between his perfectly shaped eyebrows and a knot forms in Michael’s stomach. He doesn’t mean to come off like a complete asshole, but disinterest is a lot easier to convey than his constant state of ‘ _ looking at you makes me want to throw away all of my morals, so I must limit contact _ .’ 

Breaking eye contact, Michael turns to where Calum's wrapped up in Luke’s arms, the two of them swinging from side to side. When they finally pull apart, Michael sticks his hand out. It takes a moment of Calum switching his gaze from Michael’s palm to his face back and forth a few times for him to get the point, roll his eyes, and pass his card to Michael, who immediately takes the plastic and heads to the bar, opening a tab. 

He’s already incredibly stressed, so he knows he’ll be coming back for more. 

And often. 

The night plays out like it usually does when Michael’s uncomfortable - time ticks by slowly, his beer tastes flat, and the conversation is dull. When Michael thinks perhaps it’s been enough time, that he can make his way back home and get back to preparing for his test, he looks at the clock and realizes it’s only been forty minutes. 

The disappointment is enough for him to finish his third beer and head back to the bar for a refill. 

He’s waiting for the bartender to return with his two drinks when a girl falls into the chair next to him. “Hi.”

Michael smiles politely at her. He thinks she’s there to hit on him, and if it were two years earlier, maybe he’d be more into it. She’s certainly attractive - dark brown eyes and short black hair. Her skin is soft, and Michael likes to think he’d have marked it up a bit back then. Now though, he’s not looking for anything other than his beer and for time to move a bit more quickly. 

“I, uh, I’m not really the type to put myself out there,” the girl tells him, her cheeks darkening a bit as she looks anywhere but in Michael’s eyes, “but you’re so pretty, and I think I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t take a chance on you.”

It’s one of the more polite pick-up lines that he’s heard, and she’s definitely going out on a limb by approaching him, but he’s not interested. “Thank you.”

“Could I get your number?” She asks. 

“I - “

“Or your snapchat or something?” She cuts him off, finally looking Michael in the eyes. “I just really want to be able to look at you again.” 

Saving Michael from having to answer, to reject her, the bartender drops the two drinks off, parting from Michael with a smirk. He grabs for the mugs and says offhandedly, “I should bring these back to my boyfriend.”

“Oh. Right.” The girl’s smiling sadly, and Michael can’t find it in him to feel guilty about it. “Well, let him know he’s incredibly lucky to have you.” He fights the urge to cringe, and makes his way to the table where he sees everyone’s eyes on him. 

He sets a glass in front of Calum and takes a swig of his own, Calum leaning over and wetly kissing his cheek as he does. “That girl was drooling all over you,” he says, and Michael’s grateful for just how perceptive his best friends is. 

“She told me she just wanted to look at me.” 

Across from where Michael’s sitting next to Calum, Ashton’s friend Ashley chuckles. “I feel that, man. You’re very pretty.” 

Michael’s only met Ashley a few times in the company of their mutual friends, but he sees her on campus occasionally. She’s never been anything more than pleasant, and Michael thinks their similar interest could help form quite a great friendship, but doing that would require seeing more of Ashton, and Michael’s untouched, easily-awakened prick couldn’t take seeing him any more than he already does. 

So they deal with only crossing paths every few months, exchanging pleasantries, and focusing on their respective careers in the medical field. It’s completely good-natured, but at her most recent comment, Michael rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not hitting on you,” Ashley assures him with a laugh. “I’ve got my own boyfriend.”

“And girlfriend.”

Ashley points at Ashton after his comment, mouth closed and nodding once. “One of those as well,” she says. “I was just saying she’s not completely out there with her request. You should be a model.”

It’s a comment Michael’s heard before, and while it used to make him blush, make him feel bubbly and pink, it does nothing more than annoy him now. People use compliments like currency in the real world, and think that telling him he’s attractive is enough to have him undressing for them. 

It used to, he’ll be honest. If he found someone attractive and worthy of his time, a well-placed compliment would have them in a bathroom stall making the most of the night, but recently it’s all felt superficial. There’s beauty everywhere, and having a mutual attraction with someone doesn’t mean that he’s destined to be with them. It only means that they have eyes and can appreciate a pretty face when they see one. 

Michael’s waiting for the day someone can see something more in him. Something other than his eyes or his bone structure. He doesn’t want to be seen as a model, he wants to be seen as someone clever and funny, and worth more than a four minute hand job in the alley between the bar and the post office next door. 

To be honest, he’s still waiting to see  _ himself _ as more than a face in the crowd as well. 

“You never tell me I should be a model,” Calum complains. He’s sitting stiffly, and Michael imagines that his arms would be crossed were he not occupied with wrapping them around Luke’s shoulders. 

“Or me.”

Ashley turns to the couple, eyes hooded and lips a thin line. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like me to find you an agent? Or were you just looking to feed your egos?” Her tone matched with Calum's glower have Michael laughing into his drink. “So what was wrong with her then? Are you not straight?” 

Michael shakes his head, still smiling around the rim of the glass. “I’m not, no.”

“He’s also not exclusively into men, either,” Calum adds, switching his arms so they’re now gripping Michael’s shoulders, completely ignoring the daggers Michael is glaring into the side of his face. “Don’t let him blow you off with a half answer.”

“So then what was wrong with her?” 

Michael just shakes his head, doesn’t want to have to explain it, not when next to Ashley is Ashton, the very man that has Michael constantly questioning his own choices. He doesn’t want to have to defend himself and go through the gruelling process of talking about what exactly it all means. 

So Calum does. 

“He’s taking a break from dating, our Michael is.” 

Ashley nods, doesn’t look judgemental in the least, which is always good. “Oh, nice.”

“I did that before I met Calum,” Luke says. He leans forward so his elbows are resting on the table. “I went like four months. No sex, no dating.” 

“Really?” 

Luke nods at Ashley’s question. “It helped me really find myself, I think.” 

Michael can’t help but take notice that Ashton is decidedly quiet, watching Michael with a look on his face that says he’s figuring Michael out. 

“Yeah, that’s lovely,” Calum says. “Four months was enough time then?” 

Luke shrugs, his head sinking further between his shoulders. “It’s all I needed. Don’t think I could’ve waited any longer when I met you.” 

Instead of  _ coo _ ing or letting his face melt into that sickeningly loving expression he gets whenever Luke talks about anything, Calum just turns to Michael with a smirk on his face, eyes holding amusement and something malicious. 

“Hey, Michael.” Calum is usually loud on his own, but his own smugness has his voice carrying throughout the entire bar. “Luke did it for four whole months. Could you imagine?” If Michael scowls hard enough he likes to think he could make himself disappear. 

“How long’ve you been at it?” Ashley asks not unkindly, and Calum's grin, if possible, gets even bigger. 

“How long, Michael?” Calum laughs as Michael says nothing and answers for him. “It’s been two years.” 

“Only nineteen months, you dick,” Michael snaps. 

“And you’re clearly not counting the days.” 

Calum laughs, and it’s knives in Michael’s ear. They’re best friends and Michael loves the guy with everything he has in him, but it’s like he has no respect for personal issues. He finds humor in everything, and while that’s not necessarily a bad trait to have, it’s incredibly annoying when it’s at Michael’s expense. 

Besides, he’s counting the time for more than just the sex. He’s proud of how far he’s come and his keeping track isn’t out of bitterness. Calum just wants to make a joke out of it. 

Ashley’s look at him in astonishment, green eyes wide and mouth agape. It’d be comical if Michael weren’t feeling so bitter. “How on Earth do you do that?”

“I focus on my school work and myself,” Michael mumbles, shrugging. He really doesn’t want to delve into it all. It’s a lot to unpack, and he’s not had nearly enough to drink to attempt the conversation.  

“Right,” Ashley nods once, “but the sex.” 

It takes actual effort for Michael not to groan and roll his eyes. “Sex isn’t everything. You don’t need it to live.” 

“How many showers do you take a day, Mikey?” 

Calum's question, filled with a smugness that’s far too inflated to deal with, is the final straw for Michael. Instead of answering, or knocking his roommates teeth out, he pushes away from the table and makes his way over to the bar again. He came all this way for Calum to mock him, so he’s going to spoil himself on Calum's dime, and he won’t feel even a morsel of regret. 

He’d rather be hit on by all of the unsure, superficial women in the bar than put up with Calum's bullying for a moment longer. 

It’s not like he’ll be as tempted as he would have been at the beginning. There was a moment,just over a year ago, that had him almost giving in, throwing in the towel and going home with a stranger to get rid of the constant thrum of arousal in his veins, but he managed to control himself, walk home in the cold February air, and take perhaps the longest shower of his life. 

Lately school’s become his number one priority. It’s always been important, and it definitely became a bigger focus when he stopped sleeping around, but these past few months, he’s really thrown his entire body into it. 

It’s easy to do when he’s not got much else going on in his life. 

He’s dating himself a bit, really. He’s trying to find out who he is as a person, and how he operates and functions in the real world without having an end goal of getting laid at the end of the night. It’s difficult, and he doesn’t think he’s really learning much about himself, but it’s definitely something he’s enjoying. 

He eats dinner by himself at restaurants, goes stag to see the new Marvel movies, and after a good exam grade, he celebrates by taking himself out to eat or going for ice cream in the park. Sometimes, if he can afford it, he’ll spring for a tattoo to treat himself. 

It’s rewarding in itself to let himself enjoy the small things, and while he sometimes misses having someone to share it with, he doesn’t regret doing his decision to become celibate. 

“Michael, hey.” At the greeting and the hand on his shoulder, Michael jumps. It’s Ashton. He was deep in his own thoughts, waiting for the bartender to make his way over, and the sudden arrival was alarming. “Is anyone sitting here?” 

He wants to say yes, that he’s waiting for literally anybody else to make their way over and entertain his time. But Ashton’s looking at him, hazel eyes soft, looking like the grass after the morning rain, and he doesn’t have it in him to be cruel. 

“Uh, no.” He lets his eyes wander over to the table they both previously occupied, wondering why Calum was letting this happening. “Go ahead.”

Something akin to relief skitters across Ashton’s face before a smile is taking over most of his features. He settles himself on the stool next to Michael. “Calum started telling a story about some teacher’s aid and an empty classroom?” 

“That was a long time ago,” Michael says, glaring back at Calum again. 

Ashton laughs softly, kindly. “I don’t know if you remember, but that day we met, you said something about not being like that anymore or something. It confused me back then, but now I think that you were probably starting your - ” He waves his hand loosely as he stutters, until ultimately just thinning in his lips in an awkward grin. “So I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

“You didn’t.” 

“I think I did,” Ashton disagrees. “C’mon, Michael. It’s been two years and you don’t talk to me.” Michael bites his cheek at the completely inaccurate accusation. It wasn’t Ashton’s fault, and he never made Michael uncomfortable. “We started out fine, but when I asked you out, you got distant.” 

“Right.” He was distant because of how much he wanted to say yes. 

For a moment Ashton watches him, looking as though he expects Michael to say something more. When he doesn’t, Ashton adds, “So I think I should apologize.” 

It’d make the conversation easier if Michael accepted the apology. It’d make him feel a lot less guilty if he’d tell Ashton the entire truth. 

Neither of those options sound like something he wants to do, though. He doesn’t want to confirm Ashton’s thoughts that he’d done something wrong on the day they first met, but he also doesn’t want to explain his  _ actual _ reasoning. The idea of telling Ashton  _ just _ how attracted to him Michael is, of letting him in on Michael’s thirst for him - 

It’s not going to happen. 

“You’re alright, Ashton. I promise I’m over it.” It’s not technically a recognition of the apology, and it definitely isn’t the whole truth. Even so, Ashton smiles flatly. “Not that I was ever really under it.” 

At the joke, Ashton laughs, the lines by his eyes crinkling together and stealing Michael’s breath. “Let me at least buy you a drink since Calum's terrible humor drove you away.” 

“Uh, sure.” 

Ashton waves the bartender down, and it only takes a moment for him to make his way over, taking their drink orders and getting to work making it. Ashton orders Michael’s drink perfectly from his own memory, and even though it’s only a beer, the sentiment has Michael’s heart skipping a beat. And then he’s cursing when Ashton tips well. 

He’s a good person, and Michael’s a horny bastard who’s apparently extremely aroused by general kindness. He has a feeling he’s going to be drinking double tonight. 

As they wait for their drinks, Ashton turns to Michael, eyes wide in interest. “I think it’s admirable you’re putting your work first. Luke says you’re in medical school.” 

“Yeah, for pediatrics,” Michael says, internally begging his heart to stop beating so hard at the simple question. “It’s a long road, but I think it’s worth it.” 

“Oh so you like kids?”

“I do, yeah.” Michael nods stiffly, not sure what else to say. Ashton frowns at the shortness, and Michael feels his chest constrict. “I’m sorry. I’m not great at small talk.” 

It’s not just because of Ashton, and it’s not because of his recent ban from dating, either. Michael’s never been one for making pointless conversation. He’s never had to ask about anybody’s life to have them on their knees behind a building, it’s never mattered. 

Even now, Michael’s hoping this is the last conversation he’ll ever have with Ashton, and that he won’t ever have to know whether Ashton likes kids as well. 

Logically, though, he knows he can’t hide from Ashton any longer. Not now that he’s taken the time to apologize for something he didn’t do and extend an olive branch to Michael. This is the beginning of the end. This is where Michael has to become incredible at controlling his own urges. 

Because Ashton isn’t a stranger. He’s not some throwaway compliment whispered over the pounding bass at the club. He’s temptation that Michael isn’t sure he can resist. 

“I’m not the best either,” Ashton laughs. “How about we just drink to apologies and maybe a new friendship.”

Michael smiles hollowly, biting back his own distaste at the word ‘friend.’ “I’d like that.” 

At his agreement, they both turn their gaze down the bar. Michael was expecting their drinks to be ready, but the bartender is still working on them, essentially ruining their flow of conversation. 

“I was really hoping he’d be done,” Ashton says. The disappointment bleeds into his tone and there’s a pout on his lips. Michael’s not even surprised they were thinking the same thing. 

“As if your words summoned him,” he comments through a laugh. 

“Exactly.”

They’re both grinning, and it feels a bit silly, but Michael’s enjoying it. He knew they’d get along, always had a feel that Ashton was the kind of person Michael could talk to for hours. That’s never been a problem - it’s the fact that Michael could spend hours looking at him and not care about anything else in the world that’s bringing him down. 

Biting back his inner monologue, Michael says, “That’d be a great superpower. Just say what you want and it happens.” 

Ashton nods, the smallest hint of humor on his face. “I think if I had any power, it’d be super speed.” 

“You already have super strength,” Michael can’t help but comment, “if I remember correctly.” The red that climbs Ashton’s neck at the compliment is enough to keep Michael warm until the summer sun heats up the Chicago streets. 

“You have the power of mass manipulation, I think,” Ashton bites back, but his eyes give away that he’s not completely sure of what he’s saying. 

Michael laughs once, short and surprised, but the smile doesn’t fade from his face. “That came out of nowhere, man. What does that mean?” 

“It didn’t actually.” Ashton rolls his eyes, looking silly and out of place, but still perfect for him. “You just smile and the world falls at your knees.” 

The word choice was poor, Michael decides when his cheeks heat up, an image of Ashton falling to his knees right now, cheeks dusted pink and smirk on his face. He has to clear his throat before he can try and speak. “They do not. That’s not even what manipulation means.”

“They do too,” Ashton laughs. “I bet you’ve never paid a full bar tab in your life.”

“Of course not. I have Calum to do that for me.” He points at the table, and they turn to find Calum yelling across the table, eyes slitted in anger. Ashley’s laughing, not looking to be feeling anything but joy at Calum's outrage, and Luke, of course, is looking on, chin is his palm, as his eyes turn into actual hearts. The whole scene is more than chaotic. “I think he’s just easily manipulated.” 

“Easily provoked too,” Ashton adds. They watch as Ashley says something that has Calum throwing his straw across the table. “How much do you want to bet Ashley didn’t even deserve to get yelled at?” 

“I don’t think betting would be smart,” Michael says, not able to hold back a smile. “Cal might yell at me.” Ashton begins to laugh but they’re interrupted by their drinks being place in front of them. They both turn away from the fight and Michael can’t help but sigh in relief. “Finally.” 

He looks up at the bartender and smiles, and the guy - who has been moving quickly the whole night barely stopping to collect cash - pauses to return the grin. “Enjoy.” 

He goes back to work quickly and Michael takes a drink of his beer. When he places his glass down and spares a look at Ashton, he only sees a dropped jaw and eyebrows approaching his hairline. Michael wants to laugh at the absurdity of his look. 

“Come on, man.” Ashton gestures flippantly down the the bar. “You can’t say that wasn’t anything.” 

Michael shrugs, biting back a smile. “He was just being nice.”

“That wasn’t being nice,” He insists. “That was something more. He wanted you.” 

“Not everybody wants me,  _ Ashton _ .” Michael isn’t drunk yet, not even close, but having alcohol in front of him and having their tension pushed under the rug, he feels better, more friendly. 

Silly. 

“So it’s just me then?” Ashton’s voice is deeper than it was a moment ago, a seriousness to his tone, but when Michael looks at him, it all fades away and it’s nothing but open joy. Michael swallows dryly, not liking that it’s so easy for Ashton to tear down his walls with a simple grin. “So tell me. Zeppelin or Floyd?”

If being attracted to Ashton wasn’t enough, now Michael knows he’s completely cool… in a completely nerdy sense, of course. They spend the rest of the night slowly getting completely intoxicated, discussing old music, and the whole thing is detrimental to Michael’s prick. 

After a shamefully small amount of drinks, he can feel himself starting to lean into Ashton, can feel himself  _ flirting _ . It’s embarrassing how quick he is to turn into everything he’s against, just because there’s a beautiful boy with a love for music before him. 

When Calum comes over just after last call to close his tab and drag them home, Michael leaves with a hug for Ashton. It’s under the premise of a friendly goodbye, but Ashton’s hands are firm on Michael’s hips, pushing his shirt up the slightest bit, and Michael can’t help but whisper a congratulations for Ashton’s promotion in his ear. When Ashton blushes, Michael feels powerful.

He goes home and gets off to the memory of Ashton’s pink skin and the feel of his rough hands on Michael’s hip. 

➻

Michael wakes up feeling ashamed. 

He’s not hungover. He managed to drink enough water when he got home, but he still remembers - in vivid detail - how easy it was to fall into something with Ashton, and how hard up he was at the end of the night, a little drunk and craving Ashton’s rough, calloused hands on his bare hips. 

He spends more than a necessary amount of time in bed, palms pushing against his eyes until he sees colored spots behind the lids. He doesn’t have class until tomorrow, but he knows he needs to get up, needs to face Calum and his hypercritical eyes, judging Michael for his behavior. 

After allowing himself a few minutes to prepare, Michael wanders into the kitchen, banging raucously on Calum's closed bedroom door as he passes. Calum comes out a few minute later, as Michael’s already eating his breakfast. His eyes are slitted in a glare, frowning at absolutely nothing in his tired state. 

The room is silent, only the sound of Calum pulling his Wheat Thins down from the cupboard, until he clears his throat. “Last night was fun.” Michael nods, not looking up at his roommate. Not needing to be on the receiving end of his inquisitive and intruding looks. “You and Ashton seemed to get along.” 

“He’s a nice guy.”

“He really is.” There’s a smile in Calum's voice. “He’s also attractive, wouldn’t you say.”

Michael narrows his eyes, focusing too intently on the Cocoa Pops floating in his bowl. “I suppose.”

“You suppose, right.” Calum places his bowl on the table in front of the seat directly across from Michael. There’s a shit-eating grin on his face, and Michael knows he’s just trying to get a rise out of him, but it’s not going to work. He’s not going to fall for it. 

Only, Calum's smirk manages to get bigger, smugness dripping from it, and Michael can’t just let it lie. “Just fucking say it, Calum. It’s too early for this shit.” 

“You clearly want to fuck him,” Calum says, the words falling easily from his tongue as though he’d been waiting to say them since the night before. “It’s so  _ obvious _ .” 

“He’s the reason I went celibate.” 

“Okay, well don’t blame him.” Calum rolls his eyes, and Michael almost wants to throw something at him. “ _You’re_ the reason you’re celibate, prick. He just made you realize how hard up you were.” At the crude wording, Michael glares. “It’s been two years, and you’re just as easy.” 

He replies, “It’s been nineteen months.”

“Close enough.” Calum flaps his hand aimlessly, waving Michael’s correction off. “Doesn’t matter how much time goes by, you’ll still be craving a ride on Cash Money’s dick.” Michael feels his mouth soundlessly forming around the words  _ ‘Cash Money.’  _ He's confused and disgusted at the terrible nickname. “You know how you went by MC Clifford all freshman year?” 

“Shut the fuck up.”

“He goes by Cash Money Irwin when he’s got the aux cord,” Calum continues as though Michael never spoke. “Less embarrassing on him, I’d say.” 

Just moment ago, Calum was dragging his feet, eyes covered in sleep and nose crunched up. He was barely operable, but one bite of cereal and it’s suddenly last night again, Calum just as annoying and intolerable as ever. 

Michael regrets waking up, regrets waking  _ Calum _ up. Those few blissful moments in bed this morning where he didn’t remember his own name let alone the night before - he’d give anything to have those back. 

“It’s too fucking early for this.” Michael’s head falls into his hand, but Calum's takes no notice, continuing his explanation. 

“I’d be C Dizzle Swizzle, clearly. Luke  _ would _ be DJ Hemmo were I to ever allow him to have the aux cord, but he played only Cher last time, so I don’t think that’d happen.” It’s too much, too early, and Michael tunes him out, letting Calum go on about his boyfriend’s ‘adorably terrible’ taste in music for a few minutes until he groans and shoves his phone in Michael’s face. “Look what DJ Hemmo just send me.” 

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the screen so close to his face, but when it doesn’t, Michael’s mouth quickly fills with saliva. Luke seems to have sent a picture of the breakfast Ashton’s cooked up, complete with eggs, bacon, toast, and juice. In the distance, Michael’s certain there’s a package of sausage lying on the counter. 

It’s a dream, something neither of them could ever do without burning down the house, and Michael’s more than a bit angry about it. 

“He didn’t think to make that for us?” Michael asks, letting the bitterness drip from his tongue.

“No, it’s just for him and Ashton apparently.” Calum rolls his eyes as he says it, and Michael can tell he’s just as angry. “They’re bonding as roommates whatever the fuck that means.” Michael raises his eyebrows and goes back to his cereal, which is decidedly less enticing now. “Hey can I send Ashton your number? He just asked for it.”

“No.”

Michael doesn’t have to look to know Calum's pouting. “Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want him to have it.” 

For a moment Calum says nothing, just types at his phone, and Michael thinks the subject is dropped. ”That’s a shame,” Calum says slowly, “You should’ve told me sooner.”

Michael’s spoon stops it’s path halfway to his mouth, some of the cereal falling back into the bowl as he glares across the table. “Did you send it? 

“Ehm,” Calum's fingers are moving quickly, his tongue in his teeth. A moment later he smiles and harshly taps his screen. “Okay now I did.”

He sent the number even after Michael said no, but Michael isn’t surprised. “I’m not answering his message.”

“Yeah, good luck ignoring him,” Calum says. “You were basically begging for his attention last night.”

“No, I wasn’t!” 

“You definitely were.” His smirk is back and it’s accompanied by a grating laugh. “Ashley and I started making bets over how long it’d take you to throw away your celibacy and drag Ashton to the bathroom.”

“Fuck off, Calum. It was bad judgement.” He wants to deny it, but he can’t. After his third drink, he knows he was so obviously, visibly into Ashton. “It’s your fault, anyway, for leaving me alone with him.”

Calum rolls his eyes at the blame being placed on him. “Oh, whatever.” He’s leaning back in his seat, and Michael feels victorious in knowing Calum's cereal has to have gone soggy by now. “Even if I’d have gone to the bar with you, you’d have still found a way to climb over me and into Ashton’s lap.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You weren’t that  _ great _ .”

Michael’s lips tense, searching for something to say that won’t end with Calum making fun of him. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m done with him. Yesterday just showed me that I wasn’t ready for friends like him.” 

“Friends like him?” Calum asks, the impending presence of a joke already audible in his voice. “You mean friends that you want to bend you over and fuck away your last bit of sanity?”

Michael’s contemplating throwing his spoon at Calum when his phone buzzes. 

**Unknown:** **hey is this michael? its ashton from last night. had an exceptional time and was hoping to attempt a new platonic friendship? was wondering if you’d be interested in going for some coffee, perhaps?**

Michael curses under his breath. Excessive vocabulary and lack of capitalization aside, it’s incredibly kind and Michael would feel like a real asshole to turn him down. Especially after making amends just last night.  

His decision to accept must be showing on his face as Calum laughs, loud and boisterous, and far too much for having just woken up. “Looks like it’ll be harder to be rid of him than you thought, huh?” 

Michael really does throw his spoon this time. 

➻

When Michael walks into the coffee shop early Monday morning, he thinks he’s beaten Ashton there until he turns to take a seat and finds the other man already seated, grinning at him. 

He walks to the corner, ready to take a seat, but before he can, Ashton stands up. “Michael, hey. I’m really glad you agreed to meet me.”

“Of course, man.” Michael’s smiling, but inside he’s panicking, wondering if they should be hugging. He doesn’t know if that’s the kind of relationship they have after nearly two years of radio silence. “I’m useless in the mornings without coffee anyways.” Ashton laughs, gesturing to the lengthy line. Together they step into it. “So you wanted to talk about something?”

“Yeah, kind of.” Ashton tilts his head either way, his cheek indenting slightly as he must be biting the inside of it. “I was looking for someone I can just bounce ideas off of. Maybe rant to, if you’re okay with that?” He looks to Michael expectantly, so Michael shrugs. “Luke’s great and all, but his opinions are really centralized. He doesn’t offer much in the way of a healthy debate.”

Thinking back to just yesterday morning with Calum, Michael smirks. “I love a healthy debate.”

“I figured you might,” Ashton says, his own teasing grin making itself apparent. “You’re very stubborn.”

“No, I’m not.” 

“You have to argue with everything, don’t you?” Ashton asks, huffing despite the light tone. 

Michael pulls his bottom lip between his teeth to not grin too hard. “I can be agreeable sometimes. I agreed with you the other night on Iron Maiden.”

“Yeah, but fought with me on about everything else.”

“You named your dog after  _ ZZ Top _ , Ashton,” Michael all but yells. The lady in front of them turns with a scowl and Michael can’t help but blush. Ashton only laughs.

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asks.

They went over it the night before, and Michael’s certain he doesn’t actually care about Michael’s  opinions of his childhood pet, but for some reason, Michael doesn’t mind talking about it again. It’s just so easy conversing with Ashton - it feels like when he’s with Calum, but better and not as inevitably infuriating. “What  _ isn’t _ ?”

“He gave me all his lovin’,” Ashton tells him, smile just as bright as the night before. “It was perfect.”

Michael’s face is flat, his eyebrows raised and lips tense. “You spent all night talking about how much you wanted to have blown David Bowie.” Ashton’s laugh cuts him off, and the lady in front of them glares again. Michael continues, “And you couldn’t even have been bothered to name your dog Ziggy Stardust.”

“Well, I don’t think  _ I’m _ Bowie,” Ashton tells him, rolling his eyes jokingly. “I just like him.”

“Didn’t you dress up as him last Halloween?” Michael asks. “And the one before that?”

He doesn’t realize he’s said something off, mentioned something he probably shouldn’t have, until the silence between them runs a bit too long and he risks a glance at Ashton.  He’s watching Michael, eyes narrowed and head tilted. There’s a hint of a grin on his face, and he’s studying Michael like he’s looking for something specific. 

“How do you know that?” he finally says. 

The answer, while easy enough to say, gets stuck on his tongue. He stutters for a second, blushing a bit, needing to collect his thoughts. “Luke’s instagram,” he manages to get out. “He - ”

“Right,” Ashton cuts him off, and Michael curses himself for not just staying quiet. Luckily he manages to keep himself from blushing. 

The lady in front of them steps away - managing to do so without scowling at Michael and Ashton, and it’s their turn to order. Michael orders his usual coffee, but as he’s reaching into his pocket for his wallet, Ashton orders himself a drink and hands his card to the cashier, paying for both of their drinks. 

Michael watches, eyes wide, not understanding at first, but then it hits and he’s pulling his own card out of his wallet. “Hey, let me get my own.” 

Ashton’s hand reaches out, pushing Michael’s back, not letting him even try. “No, no. You met me out here, I asked you to come. Paying is the least I can do.”

“This isn’t a date,” Michael insists. His stomach feels like it’s fluttering, and he doesn’t like it one bit. “I don’t go on dates, okay?”

“Okay.” At Ashton’s easy agreement, Michael can feel his lips pursing. 

“Just because you asked me here and paid, it doesn’t make this a date.”

“We’re just two friends getting coffee,” Ashton agrees. He’s nodding along, eyes understanding, but Michael needs to make sure he  _ truly _ gets it.  

“And not having sex.”

Ashton laughs. “Oh we’re not?” He says it so casually, like he’s not causing Michael inner turmoil just by paying for his coffee. “A shame.”

As easygoing as Michael is, as much as he wants to be friends - kind acquaintances, really - with Ashton, this is something he can’t find it in him to joke about. Were it Calum, Luke, or even  _ Ashley _ , Michael likes to think he’d be laughing alongside them, but he once almost fell into bed with Ashton, and he doesn’t want to risk it happening again. 

“It’s not a joke, alright?” Michael feels huffy, but he can’t seem to make himself loosen up. “I just wanted you to make sure you knew.”

“It’s not a date, Michael, I promise.” The teasing edge is gone from his voice, and Michael feels lighter at Ashton’s sincere eyes. “I actually wanted to talk to you about my work. Maybe get some advice.”

The barista calls out their names, handing them the hot cups. Ashton reaches for the drinks, and Michael grabs two cardboard sleeves. 

“Why me?” He asks as they make their way to a table. 

“I honestly don’t know.” Ashton shrugs. “You seem put together.”

The idea is laughable. Michael woke up to an eraser pressed into his cheek and all of his notes under his chest. He has a papercut on his nipple. “I’m really not.”

“You’re more put together than I am.” Ashton sets their drinks down on the table, falling into a chair. Michael walks around the table, doing the same. “And I had to ask myself ‘What’s the least romantic conversation topic?’. You know, just so you would know this isn’t a date.” 

It doesn’t make everything magically alright, but Michael breathes a little easier at the joke and can let himself smile. It’s not that he was  _ scared _ it was a date, it’s just that he went so fucking long without having to worry about it, and he wants to make sure he stays on his track. 

But he doesn’t have to worry about that here. This isn’t a date. This is for Ashton to talk about work and whatever is bothering him. 

“So what’s causing you trouble at work?” He asks. 

“Nothing yet.” Ashton slides a sleeve onto his paper cup and shrugs. He looks oddly carefree for somebody that needed to meet up before work to talk things through. “It’s my first day, and I’m terrified.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He mocks Michael’s deadpan voice, rolling his eyes as he does. “I was the coffee mule for two years, almost. Now I’ve got actual work to do. They want me reviewing books before print and talking to clients. I’m getting an  _ office _ .”

At first, Michael doesn’t know what to say. Everybody stresses about work, he assumes, but he’s never done much more than wait tables or wash dishes. He’s never had to worry about his  _ career _ . He has to get through school first before he’s at that point. 

He thinks about what he’d want to hear though. He was asked to come out for coffee to help Ashton out, and that’s what he’s going to do. Or at least, he’ll try his hardest. 

“This is what you want to do with your life, right?”

Ashton tilts his head a bit. “I want to be a bit higher up in the chain, but this is getting me there.”

“I think you just have to focus on  _ that _ ,” Michael says. “They’re giving you responsibilities because they trust you, like. They wouldn’t have promoted you if they didn’t think you could handle it.”

“What if I fuck up and they fire me?”

“You’re thinking too negatively.” It’s proving a lot less difficult than he’d first thought to talk to Ashton. He’s far less dramatic than Calum and more willing to hear Michael out than Luke is. “What if you do so well that they promote you to Editor in Charge or whatever.”

Ashton rolls his eyes, but some of the tension eases from his shoulders. “That’s definitely not going to happen.” 

“And you’re not going to get fired on your first day. They’re both as equally unlikely as the other, man. Just focus on going in there and doing so mediocre that they let you come back tomorrow and do the same thing.” Michael leaves no room for argument, a tone of finality in his words. Ashton laughs, shakes his head. 

“You’re a great motivational speaker.”

Michael shrugs, taking a drink of his coffee, and only wincing slightly when the liquid burns his tongue. “I have a lot of practice being Calum's roommate and all.” 

“Yeah? Is it tough?” Tough is an understatement. “He can be a bit of a diva, can’t he?”

“Everyday I talk him off another ledge, it seems.”

“So you’re brave too.” 

Ashton’s smiling at him over the rim of his cup and Michael feels a sudden sense of comfort. “He’s my best mate and I love him, but if Luke were to propose to him tonight, I’d have Cal’s bags packed by morning.” Ashton laughs, and Michael can’t believe he ever thought about turning this down. He starts every day off with coffee, but no cup has ever left him feeling this awake and ready for the day. 

With Ashton’s stressor out of the way, they spend the rest of their time together talking quietly about their friends, making fun of them, but lovingly, and before Michael realizes, it’s time for class. He leaves with an odd handshake/hug dance, but it feels more fun than awkward, and Michael can’t stop smiling all day. 

Being friends with Ashton Irwin isn’t a hardship at all. In fact, it may just be  _ too _ easy. 

➻

From the moment his class for the day began, Michael’s been in a panic. 

It doesn’t help that Calum used up all the hot water and Michael couldn’t properly enjoy his shower, setting him tense and on edge all day. It’s not the reason his heart is pounding, nor is it really a contributing factor, but it set his entire morning off on a tilted axis, and now he’s having trouble using his cognitive functions to find a quick and easy solution. 

Hence, his panicking. 

Throughout his time in med school, he gets a few opportunities to visit the student hospital, also known as the practicing hospital. It’s where most of the graduates on the Dean’s List will be invited to do their residency. It’s an honor Michael’s both looking forward to and fearing -in the best way possible, of course. 

At the beginning of his first class, his instructor mentioned that they’d be visiting the practicing hospital the next day. Not for anything too exciting, really. They’re going to be taking an inside look at the doctors, getting a preview of what their next unit of incision and accuracy will be covering. 

Michael’s excited, of course he is. Visiting the practicing hospital is a treat that he’s always looking forward to. The panic isn’t from that at all - it’s from the materials they’re required to bring: 

Themselves, and a clean pair of scrubs. 

Both of which are items Michael has, luckily. Unluckily, he left his scrubs at his parents home when he was visiting over Christmas vacation. He didn’t think he’d need them anytime soon, so instead of asking his parents to mail them out him, he’d figured he could grab them when he goes back home for his mom’s birthday in late May. 

So he needs to buy a new pair, something that would be simple enough if he wasn’t an adult child living off of student loans and stress. He doesn’t have the money to buy new scrubs, which means he  _ definitely _ doesn’t have the money to visit home, and his parents won’t be able to mail him his scrubs by tomorrow at noon, which means he’s fucked.

It takes him an embarrassingly large amount of time - and he’s putting his cold, unsatisfying morning shower to blame - to think of a thrift store. 

There’s a great one just off campus that he knows of. It’s where graduating med students drop off their scrubs, and it’s exactly what Michael needs now. 

Halfway through his second and final class of the day, Michael gets a message from Ashton asking if he’s free to meet up over lunch, and though Michael really needs to get his scrubs and go home to study, he also doesn't want to turn down Ashton. They’ve only hung out once, and if Michael turns him down now, it’ll seem as though they’ve made no progress in terms of their friendship. So he sends him the address to the thrift shop and tells him to meet him there at two. 

Michael’s never actually been inside the thrift shop, only seen the ads around campus and heard some of the older students mention it, but from his first step in the building, it’s clear why it’s the suggested place to go. 

Just like any other thrift shop, it’s full of old furniture, random trinkets, and normal clothing, but in the corner of the building, pocketed away from everything else, stand multiple racks full of solid colored scrubs - not a pattern in sight. 

In his med school, and the practicing hospital he’s hoping to graduate into, there’s a rule against printed scrubs. Michael’s not sure the reasoning behind it, doesn’t know what’s wrong with black scrubs that have blue bats on them, but it’s against the rules, so he’s stuck with solid colors only. It’s something that wouldn’t be a problem, had he not had a limited budget.

This thrift shop, though, is a tiny, beautiful beacon. He can see six different racks full of the scrubs, and each of them are a blessing. While he waits for Ashton to arrive, Michael gets started in his search. One of the first pairs he sees, in his size and a light pink, while perfect, are just a bit too expensive, so he moves on.

For the next ten minutes, he watches as his luck runs out. He’s made it through a rack and a half, and aside from the light pink pair, he can’t find another pair that isn’t far too big or far too small, or clean enough for him to feel comfortable in at the hospital. 

The bell above the door chimes with Ashton’s arrival as Michael’s holding up a pair of pants that are red and in his size, but there isn’t a shirt in the same color, and he  _ needs _ them to match. Ashton walks up to Michael, a relieved smile on his face, throwing his arms around the smaller man. The hanger stabbing into Michael’s side, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t risk disrupting Ashton. 

Even though he’s incredibly confused as to why this hug is happening. 

“Thank you for meeting me,” Ashton mumbles beside Michael’s ear. He pulls back with a sigh, and Michael’s just thankful that he can put the pants back on the rack. 

“Thanks for coming out here,” Michael returns. Ashton nods, stepping back when he sees how little distance is between them. “You seem out of sorts.” 

Ashton laughs, but it’s dry - none of Ashton’s usual shine there. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Michael asks. 

“ _ Please _ .”

Michael bites his tongue as the corners of his mouth twitches. He knows Ashton looks like he’s about to crack, that something is clearly wrong, but it’s cute.  _ Ashton’s _ cute. And Michael can’t help but smile at him. He goes back to shuffling through his clothes to hide it. 

“I just,” Ashton starts, a sigh coming alongside it. “I don’t even know where to start. I feel like I’m about to break. Like my boss is going to come into my office to say hello, and I’m just going to fall apart in front of him.”

The image is difficult to see. Michael’s not seen much of Ashton, but he doesn’t seem the type to easily break. He expresses his worries, shares his feelings easily, but he holds himself together. He’s strong and resilient. A little bit of stress at work, while not quite pleasant, doesn’t seem like enough to make him crack. 

“Did something specific happen?” Michael asks, sparing a glance over to where Ashton’s leaning heavily against the flimsy metal of the rack. “Did you do something wrong and feel worried?” 

“ _ Probably _ ,” he groans. Michael turns away to hide back another smile. “I don’t even  _ know  _ what I’ve been doing. There was a meeting today about something related to my current projects, and I spent the whole time staring at the wall thinking about breakdancing of all things. I just zoned out and missed what was really important information.” 

Despite the fact Ashton’s in front of him looking so stressed, so exhausted, Michael can’t contain himself anymore and begins to laugh. “Breakdancing?” 

Ashton’s eyes narrow at Michael’s reaction. “I’ll have you know I’m an incredible dancer.” Michael bites his tongue but he can’t keep it in, giggling with his tongue between his teeth. Ashton pouts. “That’s beside the point anyway.” 

“Sorry, man.” Michaels shakes his head, still chuckling. “Continue, please.” He goes back to perusing the racks, decidedly not smiling as Ashton sighs. 

“I’m doing a really bad job,” he complains, “and it’s only been four days, Michael.”

“It’s your first week,” Michael says. “You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

“Will I?” He sounds so pitiful with it, so upset at his own worry. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing. I spent all day staring at my inbox today. Do you know how many emails I get a day? Two-hundred.”

Michael scrunches his nose, not liking the sound of that. “Really? That seems a bit excessive.” He himself gets about ten emails a week, and they’re usually spam. 

“It could be!” Ashton’s voice comes out a bit too loud, echoing off the empty walls of the shop. When he speaks again his voice is much softer. “I don’t know if it’s because I didn’t read them. I marked them all as spam and then thought about breakdancing a bit more.” Michael laughs again, not able to hold it in at the thought of Ashton and breakdancing. “Stop laughing. I’m terrified that I’m missing everything important.” He’s whining and it’s pathetic, and somehow Michael’s charmed. 

“Stop thinking of breakdancing and read your emails then.”

“They’re all emails from other junior editors that everyone gets CC’d on, I’m pretty sure.”

“You can filter those out, you know?” At the advice, Ashton doesn’t say anything, so Michael looks and his eyebrows are furrowed, jaw dropped. “You alright?” 

He stands still, looking outraged for a brief moment before he huffs. “I can filter those?” he asks. “Why did nobody tell me?” 

Michael hides his smile in his shoulder, biting the cloth-covered skin before answering, “You were too busy daydreaming about breakdancing to ask for help.” 

“I’m telling you, I’m a great dancer,” he insists, a smile finally showing itself. “You’re mocking me now, but one day I’ll show you how my hips move.” Michael’s eyebrow raises but he keeps sorting through the scrubs. He doesn’t want to think about the other implications of Ashton’s words. “If I give you a call tomorrow for help with filtering them - ”

“I’ll pick up, no worries,” Michael finishes for him. He takes a pair of black scrubs off the shelf, rolling his eyes when they’re a size too big. 

“Perfect.” Ashton’s grinning finally, and it seems like he’s feeling better. “I miss the days of sorting through manuscripts and fetching peoples coffee.” 

Michael puts the scrubs back on the rack. “But now you have someone to get your coffee. That’s got to be a benefit.”

“Maybe,” Ashton sighs. “I guess.” In Michael’s peripheral vision, he can see Ashton shrug. “It’s still so stressful though. I feel like I’m drowning with everything there is to do. You know, for the first week I worked there they had me cleaning  _ bathrooms _ .”

“Don’t they have a janitor?” Michael asks, nose crunched up. He can’t imagine finally getting a job in pediatrics and being told to clean the bathrooms. 

“It was part of the training,” Ashton explains. “They wanted us to have respect for the custodians and their work so we learn not to leave unnecessary messes.” 

It’s not an insane idea, and probably has an outstanding effect on the employees, but Michael doesn’t know if he could do it. Hell, he still tries to con Luke into cleaning his own toilet when he comes to visit. 

It works, too. 

“I’m sure the custodial staff love that.”

“Probably.” Ashton shrugs with his words again. “I don’t know. I’ve never met them.” Michael turns to Ashton, eyebrows up and mouth slightly open at how utterly stuck up he sounded. Ashton rolls his eyes at Michael’s reaction. “I stay in my office a lot of the time. I don’t know most of the people on my floor.”

“You’ve worked there for two years,” Michael says. 

“I did coffee runs and sat on the conference room floor, taking notes and marking manuscripts that never even got published,” Ashton describes. Michael’s about to reply when he pulls out a mustard yellow pair of scrubs. They’re in his size and his price-range. His victory dance is cut short by Ashton’s scoff. “That’s ugly.”

“Excuse me?”

“The color.” Ashton gestures to the garment now hanging loosely in Michael’s grip. “It’s bad with your skin tone.” Michael can feel himself reacting, his lips falling open and eyes narrowing. “Wait,” Ashton cuts off Michael before he’s able to start yelling. “I just meant it’ll wash you out. Make you look tired.”

Michael pouts. “I  _ am _ tired.”

“Which is why you need a better color.”

“This is the only one in my size.” He bites his bottom lip, sparing a thought to the perfect garment across the room. “Except that pink one on the first rack.” He points over to where he began looking, and Ashton immediately heads over. “But that’s like ten dollars more.”

Ashton starts sorting through the scrubs, and Michael watches pathetically. When Ashton holds up the garment like a question, Michael has to nod, frowning, as he wishes for what he can’t have. 

“This would look really nice on you,” Ashton tells him as he walks back over. He holds up the scrubs in front of Michael’s body and lets his eyes roam down the length. “The color is perfect.” 

Michael rolls his eyes to keep himself from blushing. “Yeah, well it’s too much money for something I’m only going to wear until I can make a trip back home.” 

“And how long is that?” Ashton asks. 

“I’m not sure. Maybe a month.” He’d visit home more if he could, but when sparing sixteen dollars for a pair of scrubs is a goddamn moral dilemma, it’s not as easy as it seems. 

“I’ll give you the extra ten, just please buy these.”

Michael watches Ashton patting around his pockets with his free hand, and his lips twist wryly. “What does it matter to you? You’ll never see me in them.” 

“But your colleagues will,” Ashton says, eyes raising to Michael. 

“Classmates.”

“Same thing,” he waves Michael off. “It doesn’t matter. You’re getting them.” Michael opens his mouth to protest, but Ashton doesn’t let him. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll pay for the whole thing if I have to.”

“Ashton, stop.” 

Like he’s not offering to handle something that’s actually a  _ huge _ deal, Ashton rolls his eyes. “I can afford sixteen, I’ve got a big fancy job now.” 

“Until you get fired.” 

Ashton laughs. “That was cruel.”

He turns to make his way to the counter and Michael curses, putting the mustard yellow scrubs back on the rack before Racing after Ashton. He ends up paying the entire sixteen himself, figuring he can spare it, especially when Ashton tells him how good they’ll look on him with a glint to his eye. 

Michael frowns the whole time. 

Afterwards, Ashton convinces Michael to let him buy them lunch - since he didn’t get to pay for the scrubs - and Michael reluctantly agrees, refusing to blush when Ashton’s strong hand escorts him by the small of his back. It’s the beginning to a solid, completely platonic friendship. 

At least that's what Michael has to remind himself when Ashton takes his jacket off in the restaurant and his arms are exposed to Michael’s eyes. 

It’s going to be a long, frustrating night. 

➻

Lately Michael’s been going at his books a bit too hard. He’s not sure if it’s just the sheer volume of tests he has coming up or if it’s the amount of time he’s spent talking to Ashton recently that have him so stressed, so hyper focused on the smallest details of his textbooks, but it’s nearly midnight, and he’s going crazy with all of the reviewing he’s done. Hell, he’s started studying the footnotes.

Despite all of his extra reading and motivated attitude, he feels like he isn’t making any progress whatsoever. It feels like when he’d first started his celibacy - his mind so filled with thoughts of something else that he could hardly focus his attention on the words before his eyes. Back then it was his own arousal, but now it’s thoughts of Ashton. that have his leg shaking and mind racing. 

Index cards are scattered across his bed, mixed together and making absolutely no sense anymore. He’d forgotten to color code them, so now he doesn’t know which cards are for pathology and which are for pharmacology. It doesn’t make them impossible to study, but switching mindsets in the middle of reading through his cards is probably going to mess him up - if not now, then during the exam for sure. 

He’d resort to his study guides if he could, but those have long since stopped making sense. They’re covered in chicken scratch notes and various nonsensical doodles. 

Even if all of his notes somehow fell into place and became clear, Michael doesn’t know if he’d be able to get any studying done. He’s been locked in his room for nearly fourteen hours at this point, pacing around his room, burning a path in the carpet from his bed to his desk and back again more times than he can count, and he feels like his head is going to combust. 

The most recent time Calum came in his room - asking about where their spare light bulbs are stored for goodness sake - Michael was so frustrated and unable to focus that he took to throwing pens at Calum. Thirteen of them, one right after another, aimed for Calum's chest until he realized they weren’t going to stop and he left the room, slamming the door behind him. 

He hasn’t come back in, which is great as far as distractions go, but terrible as far as his mental health goes. 

Because as much as he values the solitude, craves an isolated quiet space for his studying, he thinks the lack of social contact will soon start permanently affecting his psyche. He feels like he’s slowly going insane in his room. He’s been staring at his papers for hours, and it’s all beginning to read like hieroglyphics. 

He’s not to the point of tears - not just yet - but he’s starting to contemplate whether forcing the tears will rid his brain of the toxins that are keeping him from studying and help him progress. On a logical level, he knows it makes no sense, but also… he’s willing to try. 

He’s well past cognitive thoughts at this point. 

In the distant, Michael’s phone chirps from where it’s sitting in his desk drawer, and for a moment he doesn’t even know what it is, sooner assuming it’s his own mind playing tricks on him. But then he collects himself and realizes that though he tends to spend his days alone with index cards and various kinds of markers, there are other people in the word. Other people who have phones to communicate with each other. 

It’s from Ashton, Michael notices in pulling his phone out. A selfie, to be be more specific. The lighting isn’t great, but Ashton’s pouting, his hair a bit wild like he’s run his hands through it, and there’s no caption. Michael’s struck again with just how attracted to Ashton he is. 

He’s exactly Michael’s type - and not his all-inclusive, anybody that’s interested and sober and can consent standards. If Michael had to describe the person he’d want to wake up next to every morning, a face worth being the first thing Michael sees each day, he’d go into painstakingly minute detail of Ashton’s face. Only being friends with him is as pleasing as it is frustrating. 

Which is, to say, very. 

It’s not a sudden decision, Michael’s choice to text Ashton back, to ask for an escape. It’s something that’s been building since he first read the word ‘sedimentation’ as ‘sedimentary’ and worried for an embarrassing amount of time whether he’d accidentally signed up for a geology class. He needs an escape - fresh air, a conversation, literally  _ anything _ to get him out of his stress-filled bubble. 

**Michael** :  **Feel like doing anything?**

**Ashton: such as?**

**Michael: I don’t know, but I’m going insane** **  
** **staring at my book. I need to get out.**

Ashton doesn’t answer right away. Michael’s messages get read, but there’s no reply, and for a moment, Michael thinks he may just be cursed with having to stay home with no sympathy from his friend. But then the three dots appear at the bottom of the screen and he’s typing. 

It’s an address. Everything is typed perfectly, and the street name is even capitalized, meaning Ashton definitely didn’t type it himself. 

For an editor, he sure doesn’t put much effort into his own writing.

Not sure about the temperature outside, Michael slides his hoodie on and makes his way down the stairs, putting the address into his maps. It’s a fifteen minute walk, but the weather’s not too windy. It’s a bit on the cold side for mid-March, but the chill gives him something to focus on. He prefers it to the medical gibberish that’s been taunting him all day, and the fresh air is already making Michael’s head feel better, lighter. 

The map leads him to a small bookstore - one of the few businesses that don’t serve alcohol, yet are still open this late at night. Michael peeks through the window and sees that Ashton’s inside already, crouched next to a shelf with a stack of books on his thighs. His finger is dusting the spines of the literature in front of him, and his eyes are focused. 

He looks like art. 

Michael watches for a couple minutes as Ashton pulls one down, reads the back and then opens it to flip through the pages. He ends up putting it back, and repeating the process a few more times before he must feel Michael’s eyes watching him, his own eyebrows furrowing together. 

When he notices Michael, he waves him inside, grin a mile wide and eyes lit up brighter than the fairy lights illuminating the window. The view of it seeming to dissipate the ball of stress settling low in his stomach and replace it with a light fluttering. 

Walking through the front door, Michael’s rewarded with a a sudden blast of warm air, and the smell of books. It’s nostalgic and feels like a remedy for all of the negativity that’s been plaguing him since he started studying. 

When Michael was in high school, he wasn’t a very social person. He had his two best friends and his family, and that was about it. The only other thing that ever made him feel as great as they did was reading. He’d go to the bookstore in town every weekend, and hide in the corner with a copy of whatever book Tabitha, the little old lady that owned the quiet shop, recommended to him that week. He stayed from open to close sometimes, and it’s still his favorite place back home. 

He’s really let reading for fun hit the back burner in his life lately. School has become a more pressing issue, and it’s taken all joy out of reading, but being back in a place so comforting and familiar feels like coming home. 

In a big, guilty way. 

Searching for where Ashton’s at, Michael lets himself wander through the stacks, feeling like a familiar maze. He comes across Ashton, still crouched, still with books stacked on his thigh, skimming through a beat up paperback. Michael can’t help but smile at the sight. “Hey.” 

Ashton looks up at him, and it’s even more beautiful up close that through the window. His eyes are nearly squinted closed, and his cheekbones are being pushed up. The store is warm enough as is, but with Ashton being who he is and looking at Michael with such tenderness, Michael feels like he’s drowning in his hoodie. 

“You look tired, man,” Ashton says after letting his eyes sweep over Michael. 

“Been studying all weekend,” Michael waves off his comment. “Pretty sure I’m going to fail, but - ”

“Have you slept?”

Michael shrugs. He’s trying not to blush under Ashton’s gaze, his scrutiny. “A little. I try to, but sometimes I’m too stressed, you know?” He doesn’t try enough, is the truth of it. Were he smart, he’d prioritize sleep a bit more, but as it stands, he’s letting himself have five hours in the midst of this stress. 

“That’s when you need sleep the most.” Ashton puts the book back on the shelf and shakes his head. Michael’s not afraid to admit he feels some shame at Ashton’s disapproval. “Especially with a test coming up.”

“ _ Tests _ ,” he emphasizes. “Plural. As in four tests, all in the next week.”

“Yeah, man. You’ve really go to sleep. It’ll help you retain information easier too.”

He knows Ashton’s right, but he doesn’t want to get into it, into the nitty gritty details of how his brain is moments away from short-circuiting and permanently shutting down from the fear of not doing well in his classes, and it makes it impossible to get enough rest. It’s a lot of his own fear, issues he has to work through, and he doesn’t want to bother Ashton, not when just meeting Michael was more than he had to do. 

“I guess.” Michael shrugs again.  Ashton bites his bottom lip, and Michael knows he has a few opinions, but he doesn’t want to hear them. He hears enough from his mom enough when she calls. Instead, he crouches down next to Ashton, only slightly wincing at the cracking of his joints. “So what are we doing here?”

Ashton chuckles quietly to himself, his eyes sweeping over the shelves in front of them. Michael lets himself do the same. “This is where I go when I can’t sleep or when work gets to be too stressful, so I figured it’d stop you from going crazy.”

“You just leave work to come to a bookstore?” Michael asks, smiling at the ridiculousness of it. 

“Sometimes.” 

Ashton’s nonchalance of it all and the goofy grin that accompanies it brings Michael to life, makes him laugh. It’s quiet, a bit weak from how run down he feels, but it feels good to enjoy a moment so easy. 

“You’re going to get  _ fired _ ,” Michael sings. Ashton laughs too hard at it, their own inside joke. Another sign that puts them on the road to a really good friendship -  _ just _ friends. Michael bites his lip against the thought and peers at the top of Ashton’s stack of books, noticing something familiar. “ _ Harry Potter _ ?”

“Hm?” Ashton follows Michael’s eyes to his lap. “Oh, yeah. It’s my favorite and I haven’t read it in a couple years. Figured I should get back into it while I’ve got some spare time.”

“So you read a lot then?”

He narrows his eyes at Michael, but the smile on his face gives away just how blithe he is. “It’s kind of my job, Michael.” 

“Yeah, but for fun? Even after doing it for work?” Michael spends day after day staring at his textbooks, reading pages of information imperative to his future career. It’s been so long that sometimes he can’t even open a book without the words blurring together, taunting him. The idea of picking up a book when he gets bored feels counterproductive. 

Ashton shrugs, and Michael can see a slight movement on his face. He’s biting his cheeks. “I had an ex who didn’t have a television in her bedroom, so we read at night. We only dated for a few months, but I got so used to it that it just became something I do now. When I want to relax and calm my head I read.” 

“I couldn’t imagine relaxing from work with more work,” Michael says.  

“You mean you don’t study anatomy in your free time?”

“Well not anymore!”

Ashton grins at the faux-outrage in Michael’s voice, and it’s so goddamn warm. They’re crouched together, next to the window, letting their eyes wander across the spines of the novels in front of them. It’s quiet, and his legs are a little sore, but he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

“I used to read a lot in high school,” Michael tells Ashton suddenly. Part of him want to pick up a book, but he’s afraid to take his attention off of the man sitting next to him. “Kept it up a bit in college, but towards the end I was either busy with school work or dating and it took a back seat.”

“Dating seems to have fallen off your agenda,” Ashton points out. “Why don’t you replace it with reading?” 

“I read enough for school, don’t you think?” 

Ashton shrugs again, but Michael can tell he’s holding something back. “Maybe.” He won’t look at Michael, pursing his lips and sweeping his eyes over the back of the ratty book in his hand. 

“What is it?”

“I just think there’s a difference.” Ashton’s still not looking at Michael, seeming intent on keeping his words casual, even if they aren’t. “Leisure reading is far different than what you do, and I think you know that.” 

“I do.” Michael does. He can recognize that Edgar Allen Poe and his textbook on Cardiology, while both about hearts, have two different tones and are for two different situations. “But it’s also still reading, which is what exhausts me in the first place. I’m stressed out from all my school reading, and relaxing with a book just doesn’t seem logical.”

“What do you do to relax now?” Ashton asks. He turns to look at Michael then, which is the exact wrong time to as Michael’s mind immediately races to a dirty place, a place filled with filthy thoughts of Michael and his own hand - or fingers when he’s really itching for it. Ashton takes notice of his red-stained cheeks and chuckles. It’s deeper than it normally is. “Other than that then.”

Wiping the thoughts from his head, not feeling safe with them this close to Ashton, he clears his throat. “I don’t really know,” he manages to say without embarrassing himself any further. “I do a lot of school work, and Calum pulls me out to the bar sometimes.” He gestures to Ashton. “I’ve been chilling with you lately.”

“You should read.” It’s predictable of Ashton to say, and Michael rolls his eyes. “I mean it.”

“What’s so great about reading for you?” Michael asks. When he realizes how sarcastic and defensive it sounds, he adds, “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“I just think it’s interesting that everybody has their own story to tell, and these people actually did it.” He picks up his stack of books before setting them back down, and Michael spares a thought at how he’s not crying in the pain of being crouched for so long. “What you read for school, it’s all medical jargon. It’s meant to teach you what you need to know for your career. But take any book in here and you’ll find that their purpose for writing wasn’t to teach you anything. They just had a passion, and they wanted to tell someone.” His eyes have drifted in front of him and he runs his teeth over his bottom lip quickly. “And you still learn so much.”

It’s all very soft and sweet, and Michael doesn’t want to think about why the faraway look in Ashton’s eyes has his chest feeling so tight. 

Instead, Michael takes a break and lets himself look at the books in front of him. “So if I had to start somewhere, what should I read?” 

“That’s up to you, really. Who did you read when you were in high school?”

“Whoever was on the reading lists they gave us,” Michael says, feeling a bit distracted as he tries to find a familiar name in front of him. He comes across a few. “I didn’t hate Dickens. We read this one Jane Austen book that was really good.” He tries to recollect what it was, coming up short for a few moments, and letting the silence run on. It hits him suddenly, and he snaps. “Abby!”

He looks to Ashton, letting himself smile in pride, but Ashton’s only returning his look with mild confusion, his right eyebrow dipping down and his lips twisted. “Are you…” He trails off. “Do you mean  _ Emma _ ?”

“Maybe?” Probably. 

Ashton shakes his head, laughing. “Alright, I think I have something you might like.” He gather his books in his hand and stands up easily, his body stretching out fluidly and not missing a beat. He’s smooth is a way that mesmerizes Michael. 

Instead of staying in their aisle, Ashton makes his way through the stacks in search of whatever he thinks Michael will like. 

Michael attempts to stand up and follow, but he’s not as in shape as Ashton, not as effortless in his motions. It’s all more of a struggle than it needs to be, and when he finally stands - with the help of his hands and the shelves in front of him, of course - he realizes just how sore his thighs are, the pain almost blinding, making his legs want to fall out from under him. 

He tries not to think about how strong Ashton has to be to not be reacting the same way. 

Slowly, but surely, Michael trails after Ashton, letting his legs regain feeling, hoping he’s not still limping when it’s time to go. 

He finds Ashton sorting through a shelf, muttering a quiet  _ ‘aha’ _ when he finds what he was looking for. He pulls down a beige book, tattered and worn down, and it makes Michael wonder why Ashton was  so happy about. 

Ashton turns to where Michael’s standing, watching, and hands over the beaten-down book with a grin. The cover reads “ _ The Beautiful and Damned _ ,” but Michael can’t get past the wrinkles and creases. “It’s all beaten up.”

“It’s well-loved,” Ashton corrects him.

“It’ll fall apart.”

Ashton sighs, but his smile doesn’t slip off his face. “No it won’t. It’s not that bad.”

It’s not, but Michael can see at least a dozen other copies on the shelf, all of them nice and clean. There’s even one that must be a new print, clean turquoise martini glasses decorating the cover of it. That would have been Michael’s first choice, if he’d had one, and something twists in the pit of his stomach at the thought that Ashton didn’t think he should have that one. 

“Why can’t I have one of the prettier books?” He finds himself pouting, and tries to not be offended when Ashton only laughs. 

“Have you ever heard not to judge a book by the cover?” 

“That’s what the ugly books say.” Michael can feel his nose turning up, feels a bit pretentious with it, but he really wants the blue one, thinks it’d look nice on his shelf. 

Ashton’s smiling, finds what Michael says funny, but he doesn’t reach for a new book. “Just take that one, Michael. It’s been read a hundred times by a hundred different people, and you can see it.”  

“Yes, you can,” Michael insists. “In the stains and creases.” 

“This copy has a soul. It tells a story.”

“They all tell stories.”

Ashton chuckles, but still doesn’t budge. He’s looking at the book in Michael’s hands like it means something, like it isn’t just a torn up book, waiting to fall apart after one read. “If you really want a newer edition, fine, but the well-loved ones are always better.” 

He does. Michael really does want a pretty book, the turquoise more specifically, but Ashton’s looking at the one in Michael’s hand like it’s something special, and Michael wants to know why. He wants those hazel eyes on him, crooked smile saying everything he can’t. 

“Fine,” Michael eventually sighs, feeling every bit the fool he is. “I’ll take the ugly one.” 

At his agreement, a smile breaks across Ashton’s face, and he looks even happier than when Michael first appeared outside of the shop window. “I promise you’ll get something great out of it.” Michael’s hesitant but grins at him anyway. “Come on. Let’s get you checked out and get you home.” 

“So I can read my beaten up book?” Michael asks, his tone mocking Ashton’s coming out far dorkier than he intended.

“No, so you can sleep,” Ashton replies sounding just as silly. He grins at Michael for a second, before he says, normally this time, “You’ll find time to read later, but right now you need to rest.” 

It makes Michael bite his lip, just how certain he sounds, how caring he is. It’s a shock, just how little Michael suddenly cares that they aren’t sleeping together. It’s almost too easy to be just friends with Ashton, and that’s as terrifying as it is satisfying. 

➻

“I’m breaking you out, Clifford!” 

Michael’s been on a cycle of reviewing, doing homework, and reading his book for the past few days. He doesn’t exactly feel relaxed, but he’s already doing better than he was just over the weekend. He doesn’t want to put all of his faith in Ashton, doesn’t think it was  _ entirely _ him that eased the pressure, but he was definitely a big factor. 

It’s finally Friday and his tests are done with, leaving only a few assignments that can easily be done tomorrow or Sunday night. Going out is a bounty he feels safe in rewarding himself. 

But he looks at his book, at  _ The Beautiful and Damned _ sitting dogeared on his desk and feels guilty. He’s on the ninety-third page, almost a quarter of the way through it, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Ashton’s expecting him to read it, and he feels like he’s letting him down every moment that it goes unread. 

“Not tonight, man.” 

Calum huffs, leaning heavily against the doorframe, keeping his hand wrapped around the handle. “It’s been two weeks since you’ve last gone out.” 

“That’s definitely not true.” Michael thinks that one of the side effects of all those theater courses is that Calum tends to just make things up. He speaks with such pageantry that sometimes the blatant lies just slipped past Michael’s radar, but every now and then he sees through the dramatics. “I went out Sunday night for one.”

“To a  _ bookstore _ .” Calum sounds insulted almost, and Michael can’t help but smile at the offense he’s taking at Michael considering going to a bookstore a night out. 

“Which is still out.” 

Michael doesn’t say that he considers the bookstore the best night out he’s had in years. It feels silly, a bit like he’s romanticizing his friendship with Ashton, but it’s the truth. Just being with Ashton is enough to turn the simplest of activities into an adventure. 

Calum rolls his eyes, his hands turning the doorknob repetitively. “Whatever, man. I still need you to come with us.”

“Why?” Michael crunches his nose with his question. “I usually just sit there and attract unwanted attention.” 

“Luke’s been trying to ask me something for a few days and I’m afraid he wants to move in together.” 

When they’d all finished their undergrad, Luke and Calum agreed it’d be best for them not to move in together until they were ready to start their life together in a more permanent sense. If Luke wants Calum to move in with him, that must mean he’s ready to take things to the next level. The idea that Calum's afraid of that happening feels like a joke. 

Michael watches Calum for a moment, studies the passive tone of his voice and anxious set to his shoulders, realizing he’s not messing around. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“I don’t know.” Calum shrugs, his eyes suddenly focuses on the floor. “Probably not. I just don’t want him to ask, and then suddenly have to say yes.”

There’s a hesitation in his voice, something sad and so completely unlike Calum that it throws Michael. Calum's always so confident in his relationship - one of the only things he’s managed to commit to effortlessly. It’s odd to see him so doubtful, so full of worry over something that seems to be what he’d want to happen. It’s even more strange that he’d feel like he wouldn’t want to say yes. 

Calum  _ always _ says yes to Luke. Couldn’t say no if he tried. 

“Then tell him you want to think about it.” Michael can’t think of what else to say, doesn’t know how to talk to Calum about his relationship trouble without hitting him upside the head and yelling that he loves Luke, and that it should be the only thing that matters. 

“That’s beside the point, Michael,” Calum huffs, and it’s lacking his usual dramatics. “I need my best friend there for support, why are you resisting this?” 

“I really want to finish this book.”  

“It’s a  _ book _ , Michael.” he rolls his eyes, and his hand finally comes off the doorknob, sliding down so the metal of it wobbles slightly. “Just look up the ending online. Or ask Ashton about it, he’ll be there.”

At the mention of Ashton, Michael can feel himself visibly react, eyes widening in a sudden and newfound interest as he sits up straighter. It’s shameful, how easily influenced he is by the promise of Ashton. They’ve only been hanging out as friends for two weeks, and already he’s quickly become something of a reward - the only redeeming factor of a night out at the bar with Calum. 

“I - ” Michael clears his throat, trying his best to not be transparent in his sudden change of answer. “If you really need me there for support, then I suppose - ”

“Jesus, Michael,  _ really _ ?” Calum's right hand reaches up to rub at his temple, and Michael knows he was unsuccessful, entirely too obvious in his reasoning. “You’ll go for Ashton but not me?”

It’s a completely defensive move, Michael feels his eyes squinting and his mouth dropping in outrage. Not at the accusation - because Calum's absolutely correct in it - but on the audacity that he’d actually point it out. 

“I’m not going for Ashton, you prick.” He totally is.  

“No?” Calum's managed to do an emotional one-eighty. His hesitation and melancholy has been replaced with disbelief. There’s almost a sense of humor in the way he scrutinizes Michael. “Tell me, man. How many showers have you taken this week?” Michael narrows his eyes, but Calum only laughs. “Whatever. Just get ready. I’m leaving at eight.”

There’s still a solid half an hour left until then, so Michael grabs his book off of his desk and picks up where he left off. He doesn’t have much time, and lately he’s been reading slower than usual, wanting to make sure he’s retaining the information, but he wants to make at least a little more progress. He wants to be able to show Ashton that he sees something special in the book too. 

When it’s time to go, Michael doesn’t let himself get dressed up, doesn’t let himself indulge in his old habits. As much as the idea of breaking out his pulling outfits excites him, he knows it would just pull him in the wrong direction. He and Ashton are friends.  _ Only _ friends. It’s all they’ll ever be, and he needs to be okay with that.

Besides, he doesn’t want to give Calum yet another reason to make fun of him. 

So he dresses down, ready for a night at the bar between friends. He’ll have a few drinks, makes some conversation, and decidedly  _ not _ make an effort to impress Ashton. If he wears a Aerosmith shirt, it’s between him and him only. 

No other reason. 

Leaving at eight means that they don’t get to the bar until half-past, long after Luke, Ashton, and Ashley. The three are waiting at a table towards the back of the bar when Calum and Michael walk in, and there’s no trying to guess where they’re sat, not when Ashley’s laugh is echoing throughout the bar. 

They follow the noise and see Luke talking, a large grin on his face, as Ashley loses her mind laughing, Ashton watching on with a smirk. The picture is only complete when Calum runs up behind Luke, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s chest and landing a kiss on his cheek. 

It’s sweet, really, almost like Calum's moment of hesitation earlier never happened. 

Michael takes a seat across from Ashley, trying not to be too obvious and sit across from Ashton, but it doesn’t matter in the end. Ashton slides his chair closer to Ashley, away from the couple already licking into each other’s mouths. His eyes honestly  _ brighten _ when they land on Michael. 

It’s mostly infuriating because as charmed and endeared as Michael is, as much as he wants to do something about the light in Ashton’s eyes, he  _ can’t _ . They’re only friends. Friends that complain about work and school and help each other out in the most platonic of ways. 

That’s it. 

“Surprised to see you out,” Ashley says, nose still crinkled in disgust as she turns away from Luke and Calum. 

Michael shrugs. “Calum asked.” 

“And you said yes?”

“He, uh.” Michael looks at Ashton, sees the knowing smile on his face, and feels exposed. “He made some convincing points.”

The smug expression on Ashton’s face melts away into something genuine, something much more wonderful for Michael to see. “Well we’re glad to have you. Get your head out of those books, right?” Michael nods, lips burning to mention something about the Fitzgerald book, but ultimately deciding it’d seem too eager. 

It doesn’t leave him with much else to say, though. Ashton’s eyes on him, while something he’s always a fan of, make it hard for Michael to think of something to talk about. If it were just them, Michael would feel comfortable to bring up just about any topic in the world. They’re not alone, though, and Michael has to be careful what he says.

“How’s pediatrics going?” Ashley asks, saving Michael from having to worry. “That’s what you’re studying, right?”

“Yeah, pediatrics.” he sits up straighter in his seat and drifts his eyes from Ashton. He’s talking to Ashley, he doesn’t need an unnecessary distraction. “It’s alright. Stressful, of course, but it’ll be worth it.” 

It gets easier from there to talk about med school with Ashley, who’s going into a career in sports therapy. It’s not the same as pediatrics, not at all, but their courses have some overlapping classes, meaning they have a lot of the same instructors. 

Michael’s not sure how long they talk, but they’re sucked into their own bubble of anecdotes and horror stories of labs gone wrong. It’s nice - Michael doesn’t have many people that get where he’s coming from when he talks about how stressful the work is and how hard maintaining his GPA is. 

So he lets Ashton sink into the background, only occasionally putting his own two sense in, even if it’s sometimes wrong. Michael lets his mind drift and his focus center around Ashley laughing her way through a joke that to anybody else may not be as funny, but to Michael is the absolute height of comedy. 

He doesn’t realize just how isolating and exclusionary their conversation is until Ashton yawns loudly, almost purposefully disruptive. Michael would ignore it, but then Ashton jumps up quickly, his chair scratching audibly against the floor. 

Michael’s gaze swings to him as he stands, near jumping out of his own skin. “You alright?”

“Pool table just opened up,” he says, as though it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. “Wanna play?” Michael looks to Ashley, a laugh stuck in his throat at the idea of playing billiards in the middle of the decently packed bar sounds awful. Ashley offers no help to him, just shrugging. 

“Uh, no thanks,” he declines, looking back to Ashton. “It’s not my thing.”

It’s not a secret that he wouldn’t mind being alone with Ashton. It’s definitely not a hardship, but it’s not smart either - not when he’s already had a few drinks and he's  _ just _ indulgent enough to let himself start thinking horribly sexy thoughts about what they could do to ruin the smooth green felt on the table. 

“Come on,  _ please _ ,” Ashton begs. “I’ll teach you how to play, so it won’t be  _ completely _ unfair.”

The words take a moment to really register, but when they do, Michael has to bite back a smile. Ashton seems to be under the impression that Michael’s saying no because he’s not good at the game. That’s definitely not the case. He doesn’t have it in him to tell Ashton just how outstanding he is at the game because he knows as soon as he does, he’ll have to prove it. 

He’ll have to be alone with Ashton. 

“I’m alright, man,” Michael says instead. “I’m good just talking to Ashley.”

At the mention of his friend, Ashton turns to Ashley fast enough that Michael’s certain he hears a click. “Tell Michael you hate talking to him.” 

“I’m not getting in the middle of this, man.” Ashley laughs, looking away and taking a drink of her beer. Ashton sighs, and Michael has to laugh. 

“Michael, come  _ on _ .”  

Ashton breaks out a move Michael’s not had the misfortune (read: pleasure) of seeing just yet. His eyes, the color of a beautiful storm, are wide, pleading, and his lips, plump and pink, are pouting. Michael’s always considered himself to be a strong man, but he feels like all of his bones have been taken away from him, leaving him a pile of easily-persuaded goo. He’s staring into the eyes of the devil himself, and Michael can’t say no. 

“I’m…” He tries, pushes for something akin to a backbone to make itself shown, but he comes up short. “ _ Fine _ . But only one game.” Ashton smiles, and it’s like the wind blowing, refreshing and wonderful, and when it stops, Michael knows he’ll be left feeling too warm. 

“One game,” Ashton agrees. “That’s it.”

Michael feels properly tricked as he follows Ashton the short distance to the only open pool table. He had said no, had been so close to avoiding the temptation, and yet one devious pout managed to have him rolling over on his back and giving in. 

The worst part is that Ashton probably doesn’t even realize what made Michael change his mind. He doesn’t know his own strength and it’s going to be Michael’s downfall if he doesn’t get himself together. And quick. 

Completely unaware of the severe talking to Michael’s giving himself, Ashton puts a dollar into the slot on the table, grabbing the balls as they all fall down. Michael watches as he sets up the rack, making sure it’s aligned perfectly before pulling it up, and hanging the triangular rack on the edge of the table. 

As Ashton works, he keeps shooting Michael these  _ looks _ , these  _ smiles _ that have Michael biting his own tongue. There’s nothing particularly sexy or alluring about him - he just looks so genuinely happy to be playing pool. He’s such a dork, and it’s obvious that he knows, but just doesn’t care. 

Michael has to remind himself that they’re friends, and this couldn’t be a more platonic activity. 

“Alright, so.” Ashton claps his hands together once after setting the cue ball at the head of the table. “Do you want to break or should I?”

“Uh - ”

Ashton takes Michael’s moment of thinking, of deciding who should rightfully get first hit of the ball, as him not knowing the very simple terminology of the game. He rolls his eyes playfully. “I should explain. Breaking is when you hit the white ball, and all of the colored ones break away from the bunch.” 

“Oh, of course.” Michael nods his head and does his best not to laugh in Ashton’s face. “That makes much more sense now.” 

“I think I should break,” Ashton says, grinning, “just to get the game moving.” 

“Well, no. I don’t mind.” There’s a part of Michael that wants to tell Ashton he’s very aware of what he’s doing, just to save him any further humiliation, but a bigger, sicker part of him wants to indulge Ashton a bit longer, just to make the surprise that much better. “Might give me a headstart too. Since, you know, you’re going easy on me.” 

“Right. Right.” Ashton nods, reaching to grab a pool stick from the side of the table, next to where he hung the rack. “At least let me show you how to aim.”

Michael has to bite back a smirk. “Of course.” He’s not an idiot. He’s seen movies before, and he’s fully aware that this is the part where Ashton leans in close under the guise of teaching Michael how to shoot, and manages to touch every inch of their bodies together along the way. 

And he doesn’t disappoint.

Michael leans down at the head of the table and extends his arm to hold the pool. Before he can properly grip it, Ashton’s shuffling behind him, left hand gripping Michael’s hip and pulling him back just a few centimeters. It has his ass flush with Ashton’s groin, and for a moment, Michael considers that perhaps he’s asleep, and this is just his touch-starved dick trying to send dirty dreams into Michael’s subconscious for some twisted reason. 

But then Ashton’s leaning down, aligning his chest to Michael’s back, and Michael just assumes he’s died and this is hell. 

A torturous, depraved sort of hell. 

Because they’re  _ friends _ . There’s not supposed to be a palpable sexual tension between them during an amicable, relaxed game of billiards. And yet, Ashton’s left arm is sliding over Michael’s, his thick fingers are wrapping around Michael’s wrist where it sits flimsy and shaking against the felt, and he leads it closer to the cue ball. 

Ashton’s right hand falls back, completely covering Michael’s as he wraps them both tightly around the other end of the pool stick. He begins to say something, probably telling Michael, in a completely platonic manor, how to shoot, but Michael can only hear his own blood rushing past his ears. 

Perhaps it’s the fact that there’s genuine attraction between them, or it could be because it’s been nearly two years since Michael’s prick has seen someone other than Michael’s fist. Whichever it is that has Michael reacting so harshly to Ashton’s body heat and his gentle but firm hands guiding Michael where he needs him - it’s not doing much calming his racing mind. 

“Alright now you try,” Ashton whispers, his breath hitting Michael’s ear. He pulls his body away and Michael feels like he can breathe again. 

He doesn’t shoot right away, doesn’t think he can. His heart is still pounding against his chest, and his body’s got a sudden chill from where Ashton’s warmth has slid away from him. He shakes his head once. Twice. And takes a deep breath to focus. 

All his pretending was for nothing if he doesn’t show Ashton a thing or two. 

So Michael readjusts his aim, drifting to a deeper angle, a better shot. He pulls his arm back, double checking his aim, and shoots. 

“Oh, wow.” Ashton’s eyes are wide, watching where two solid-colored balls sink into the far corner pockets in sync. “That was really good.”

“Thanks,” Michael manages to say through his dry throat. It feels like swallowing glass, but the moment is over, and none of it meant anything in the first place. He shakes his head and continues, “Looks like I’m solids. Are we calling pockets?”

“I don’t…” Ashton trails off, his eyes looking at all of the balls scattered across the table. “No, I don’t think we should.”

Michael shrugs. “Easier for me then.” 

It takes a moment to collect himself again. There’s still a shake to his hand, not terrible enough to affect his game, but slightly disturbing seeing as his future career is going to require him to have a steady hand. 

It’s telling that one brick house of a man is reducing him to a shaky mess. 

He takes a deep breath, narrowing his eyes, and on his exhale, he sinks two more solid balls in a pocket. 

“Are you good?” Ashton asks, accusation lacing his tone. 

“You tell me.” 

It’s much easier to be loose, to calm himself down, when there’s some distance between him and Ashton. He feels lighter, more able to focus, and he gets another pocket effortlessly. 

“You are!” Ashton shouts, pointing his finger angrily at Michael. “You  _ lied _ . Why did you say you couldn’t play?” 

“I didn’t,” Michael tells him honestly. “You just assumed.” 

Michael also fueled the fire by not telling Ashton he was wrong, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he makes another shot. 

Ashton groans, throwing his hands up in his hair. “This isn’t fair, man,” Ashton complains. He’s acting a bit like a sore loser, and Michael’s not afraid to admit he finds it a bit cute. “You’re not going easy on me.”

“Never said I would.” For the first time since Ashton distracted him with personal space, Michael allows himself to smile - smirk, really. “Again, that was all you.”

Ashton watches on, eyebrows furrowed and mouth never completely closed, as Michael finishes off the game perfectly. He wins, without fail, playing until there are only seven striped balls, sadly sitting on the table, spread out as a sign of Ashton’s loss. 

He stares silently, looking almost angry, but moreso confused, as though he’s trying to figure out what happened.

“You owe me drinks!” Ashton shouts suddenly, and Michael can’t help but throw his head back, something short of a  _ cackle _ coming out. 

“Shouldn’t you be buying  _ me  _ a drink” He asks, smile uncontrollable at Ashton’s frustration. “I won.”

“You cheated.”

“ _ How _ ?”

Ashton groans then, and walks around the table toward Michael, eyeing the striped balls pathetically resting, forgotten about, on the table. “I - I don’t know. You made me think you couldn’t play and then you wiped the floor with me.”

“I did wipe the floor with you, didn’t I?” Michael can’t stop the smirk that forms at the thought. Ashton only glowers at his obvious pride. 

“Mass manipulation.” 

It hits Michael immediately, not needing any time to figure out what Ashton’s referring to, and it has him throwing his head back in laughter again. “Whatever, I’ll buy you  _ one  _ drink, and then you’re on your own for the rest of the night.” 

He puts his stick back, lying atop what  _ would’ve _ been Ashton’s stick had he gotten a chance to play, and then makes his way back to Ashton, letting the other man throw his arm casually over Michael’s shoulders. 

“You have to admit you cheated,” he says, much less angry - more conversation at this point. 

Michael shakes his head. “I won’t do that.” 

“Then admit you disarmed me with…” Ashton’s hand, the one not around Michael’s shoulders, flails out in front of them, fingers wagging in no particular pattern as Ashton thinks of what he’s saying. “With your smile or something.” 

“Charming, really.” 

It’s not because of the thought that Michael’s smile could disarm Ashton that has Michael blushing. He’s not sure what it is exactly, but it can’t be that. That’s not something friends think. 

There’s a solid line of empty chairs at the bar and Ashton guides them over. Michael’s immediately grateful to have some distance from other people, to have a space that’s just them. It’s difficult adjusting to being out so often now. Compared to just a month ago, Michael’s a damn socialite now.

When the bartender comes forward, Michael orders for them and passes his card over. He’ll pay for one drink and then call it a night.  

“You know my drink order,” Ashton observes. There’s a small grin on his face, lips slightly parted. 

Michael laughs, “Probably because it’s insanely boring and easy to remember.” 

“You’re only being mean because I called you out on being sneaky.” 

It’s the little things, Michael realizes, that have him so captivated with Ashton. He never does anything big and obvious that makes Michael take notice, he’s not trying to impress anyone. He’s being himself, making small jokes, and teasing Michael like it all comes naturally. 

Being around Ashton isn’t work. He’s not constantly aware of himself and how he’s behaving - he can just  _ be _ . There’s nothing obvious and loud about them, and that’s why Michael feels so at ease. 

The thought makes him shake his head, not wanting to get caught up in the nitty gritty things, not wanting to fall down that hole and get trapped contemplating his feelings. It’s as he’s staring at his lap that a body slides up next to him. 

“Hi there.” 

Michael jumps slightly at the proximity of the voice, frowning when he sees just how close the man next to him is standing. “Hello…” He turns to Ashton confused, but Ashton’s no help, just raising one eyebrow and fixing his stare to the bartender. 

Facing the stranger again, Michael takes note of how fit he is. He’s a bit on the tall side, but with broad shoulders. His hair is black and neatly trimmed, and his eyes, in their scrutiny of Michael, are a dull blue. He’s well fit, someone Michael’s certain has a little black book of numbers he can call up when he gets lonely. 

And yet, Michael couldn’t care less that he’s the objects of this man’s affections. 

“Mind if I buy you a drink?” He asks, grin tilted sideways and eyes holding an odd mischief, something Michael doesn’t care for at all. 

The bartender places their drinks in front of them then, and despite that, the man just stares on, waiting for Michael to accept his offer. It’s something he truly hates about coming out, that everybody is looking to get laid, looking for a body to warm their beds before they move onto the next and doesn’t give much care to proper social behavior. It used to be his bread and butter, but now it just makes him uncomfortable. 

“I’m alright,” he declines, lips flat and body tense, “but thank you.” 

He turns back to Ashton, but the man touches his shoulder. “You’re by far the most attractive person in this bar tonight,” he says, a faux-sincerity bleeding into his tone as though he believes it’s going have Michael falling on his knees then and there. “At least let me buy one.”

Michael can’t help but roll his eyes before ripping himself away from the man’s grip. He’s clearly not here alone, and the gall of this stranger is clearly not making Michael want him. “I’m alright,  _ really _ .” He faces Ashton again, and can hear the man blathering on, but he ignores him. “So you were saying? I’m sneaky?” 

Ashton smirks over the rim of his glass and it makes Michael feel warm inside. “You’re a cunning little thing, really.”

It feels like a private moment between the two of them. The bar is full, the air is stuffy, and the countertop is disgustingly sticky, but it feels intimate. With his tongue between his teeth, Michael laughs, hoping more than anything that Ashton knows he’s the only person Michael wants to share a drink with. 

They spend the rest of the night like that, alone at the bar, enjoying each other’s company. Ashton isn’t some cheap guy looking for a hookup on his night out. He’s a real friend, someone Michael wants to see more of, and doesn’t even mind that they’re not having sex. Would it be the worst thing if they were? Of course not. But Ashton respects him, respects his celibacy, and is altogether just a lovely person.  

The next morning, when Calum's teasing him for spending yet another night out pressed against Ashton, Michael just takes it with a smile. It was the most genuine fun he’s had in a while, and he knows it had nothing to do with what he did. 

It was all about his company. His Ashton. 

➻

On Wednesday, his professor introduces their newest unit: Incision and Accuracy. 

They’ve already visited the practicing hospital and gotten a look at what they’re going to be working on for the upcoming weeks, but today they start the actual work. 

At the end of the unit, they’ll be tested on incision points with a inked scalpel - with no blade - to assure they’ve got the subject matter down, so relying on their abilities to cram last minute isn’t going to help them out. They’ll have to spend time  _ actually _ studying. 

Were it any other time of his life, Michael wouldn’t be worried in the least. He has a steady hand and a solid work ethic, and this is going to be a breeze for him. 

Or at least, it would if he wasn’t reduced to a shaky, erratic mess just at the feel of Ashton Irwin’s body against his own just this past weekend. 

It’s pitiful, and not for the first time, Michael has a feeling he’s going to work himself to the bone preparing for this exam. 

➻

Michael’s studying scalpel methods, watching pediatric incision videos on his computer when his phone vibrates. While all he wants is a distraction to pull him away from this work that’s doing absolutely  _ nothing _ to help him, he persists, ignoring the fact that he has an unread message. 

But then it vibrates again. And again. And two more times after that. 

With a groan that he hopes is loud enough to be heard by whoever is blowing up his phone, Michael throws open his desk drawer and withdraws his phone. The messages are from an unnamed group chat.  

**Ashton: acquired some tickets from a client for a silent film at the theatre on adams. tonight at 8. would any of you be interested in accompanying me?**

**Luke: I’ve got work, sorry :(**

**Calum: ill be watching lukey work sorry :(**

**Ashley: Date night with the S/o’s.**

**Ashley: Sorry :(**

There’s zero thought before Michael’s sending a thumbs up and Ashton’s sending a happy face back and somehow managing to misspell ‘cool’.  

It’s only four, he still has some time before he needs to worry about getting ready. So he puts his phone back in the drawer, and goes back to his video, turning up the volume to drown out the buzzing his phone is almost consistently making. The only thing that stops him from checking to make sure it’s not an emergency is Calum's laughter echoing through the house, which tells him they’re probably making fun of Ashton.

After letting himself study unsuccessfully for a few hours, he grabs a hoodie and makes his way out of his apartment and towards Adams Street. 

He meets Ashton in front of the theater, ten minutes before the show starts, which would usually be a little late, but Ashton’s not there yet. It’s pretty empty in front of the theater, the sidewalk not as overflowing as it usually is this time of night outside something as entertaining as a theater. Michael waits, hands deep in his pockets. It was a nice day for early April, but the sun’s started to get lower in the sky and the wind from the lake is giving off a bit of a chill. There’s no telling just how cold it’ll be on his walk back home. 

It’s not even two minutes later when Michael sees Ashton approaching him on the sidewalk. He’s also bundled in a coat, but he’s not shivering from the cold like Michael, he’s standing tall as always and smiling widely. “Thanks for meeting me, man. I know it was last minute and everything.” 

“No problem at all,” Michael says, hands deep in his hoodie pocket. “I had almost no studying to do.”

Ashton grins. “Perfect timing then.”  

“It was,” Michael agrees. He can feel himself beginning to smile. “I almost had to resort to reading that dumb book.” Ashton frowns, opening his mouth to say something, but Michael cuts him off before he can start. “I’m just kidding. I’m just under halfway through it, actually.”

“Really?”

He shrugs, his shoulders shaking with the slight chill of the wind. “I want to be deeper into it, but I can only read so much at a time.”  

“What do you think of it so far?” Ashton’s hand finds its way to the small of Michael’s back, and he guides them toward the building. 

“It’s, uh - ” Michael spares a look to the ticket booth before remembering that Ashton got them from a client already, and they don’t need to worry about them. “Well, it’s a lot different than I thought it’d be. Far more bitter.”

It’s not meant to be funny, but Ashton laughs anyway. “Fitzgerald usually is. Wait until you get further into it. That’s when things get really good.” 

“Or bad.” 

He’s chuckling, and Michael can’t help but grin. “That too.” Ashton holds the door open for Michael, and they both walk through, hit immediately with a rush of warm air and the smell of fresh popcorn. “Do you want any snacks? On me, of course.” 

“Actually - ” He has some extra money this week, and Ashton’s already bought for him a few times. Splitting the cost is the least Michael can do. “I’ll buy us popcorn if you get us drinks.” 

“Of course.”

They both go to separate registers, just to get their goods faster, but it doesn’t matter in the end - there’s no lines at all, so they end up getting taken care of immediately. 

When they make their way into the showing room, the first thing Michael notices is how large the room is. The second thing he notices is how  _ vacant _ it is. It’s nearly eight, the two of them just barely making it to the showing on time, yet there’s not a single person in the room. It’s completely empty. 

“This isn’t a date,” Michael says when he notices how alone he is. 

Ashton’s head whips in his direction, eyebrow quirked. “Of course it isn’t.”

“Well I was just saying in case you rented out this entire theatre to get me alone.” 

When Ashton laughs, it’s hearty and full and it echoes. Michael doesn’t feel as tense over joking about dates anymore, not when Ashton’s so soft and wonderful in response to it all. “I definitely didn’t. I don’t have that kind of money.”

“You bought  _ two _ drinks, man,” Michael point out, a playful smirk on his face. “You’re the wealthiest person I know.” 

Despite the entire room being empty, leaving them the opportunity to have any seats they want, Ashton leads him to the exact center of the theatre. The moment Michael sits in the chair, having to balance the popcorn in his left hand as his right one pulls the seat down, Ashton moves over a seat, leaving a space in between them. He’s smirking, and Michael has half a mind to stay where he is, not giving into the ridiculous joke. 

But then Ashton’s giggling, and Michael wants to be next to him, feeling the warmth from his body and the warmth of his humor wrapped around him like a blanket, and he doesn’t feel like he’s losing anything by letting Ashton laugh at him. 

At this point, Michael’s certain he has more than just physical feelings for Ashton. He’s pretty sure he’s developing romantic, more than sexual, attraction for him. Because it’s more than just his body that’s drawing Michael in. It’s his humor, and his wit, and the fact that Michael feels so comfortable around him. He feels like he can just be and not worry that he’s sounding ridiculous or that he’s too boring. Ashton is just…  _ Ashton _ . And he’s somehow exactly Michael’s type. 

The movie starts up rather quickly, no previews or commercials leading into the introductory music, which is quite beautiful in itself. 

“So what movie is this?” Michael asks, keeping his voice low despite nobody being around to be annoyed by his talking during the film. “Do you know?” 

“The title was French, and I didn’t have enough time to look it up,” Ashton says back, just as quiet. “I worked late.”

Michael finds himself nodding before Ashton’s words hit him. “ _ French _ ?” Ashton looks to him, eyes wide at the hushed outrage in Michael’s voice. “It’s a foreign film? How are we supposed to know whats happening?”

“It’s silent anyways.” Ashton’s leaning back in his seat, shrugging casually as if he didn’t just sign them up for a movie they won’t be able to understand. “They don’t talk at all.”

“There are dialogue cards that show throughout, and if it’s French - ”

“Maybe there’s closed captioning?” Ashton cuts Michael off, smiling too large for Michael to continue his rant. 

“This is going to be so long.” As much as he wants to glare at Ashton, he can’t help but chuckle.

The movie begins playing, and - just as Michael suspected - it’s extremely difficult to follow along. That’s not to say they don’t try, of course. For the first ten minutes, they both stay silent, quietly chewing their popcorn and fighting to stay focused, and honestly, Michael’s proud that they manage to stay civilized as long as they do. 

But then Ashton starts captioning the movie and what he thinks is happening, acting as a translator and, more than likely, getting the plot completely wrong. Through his giggles, Michael joins in, and together they make a mockery of the film. 

At one point, an elderly couple makes their way into the theatre. It happens  _ just _ as Ashton says something filthy, hilarious, and completely inappropriate, and Michael can’t contain the cackle that comes out of him. It’s a bit disrespectful, he knows, but he can’t calm himself down, and Ashton takes to just shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth to shut him up. 

They manage to get through the entire film without getting kicked out and it’s impressive, Michael personally believes. After disposing of their empty containers, they step out into the night air. Michael’s immediately hit with the chilly wind and hugs his hoodie closer to his body. “Thanks for letting me come with. I didn’t know what was happening, but I loved it.”

“I’m glad it was you that came,” Ashton says, grinning. 

“Calum would’ve left when he found out it was French.”

“Luke would’ve gotten hard when he heard it was French.”

It makes Michael laugh too loud, the sound carrying throughout the too empty street. “I should head back.” He flicks his head in the direction he came from. “I’ve got an early class.” 

“Let me walk you,” Ashton offers. 

“You live the other way,” Michael tells his, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Ashton shrugs, not making a move to turn and head his own way. “This isn’t a date.”

Ashton rolls his eyes, licking his teeth as he does, and Michael can’t help but notice just how good smug looks on him. “Just start walking.” Ashton’s hand pushes gently at Michael’s shoulder, turning him around, but Michael doesn’t start walking yet. 

“I just think it’s important for you to understand.” Though he’s joking, Michael keeps his face straight. Ashton shoves him lightly and he laughs falling in step with Ashton.  

They walk together quietly, managing to go half a block in  silence before getting distracted by a tattoo shop, pulling himself from Ashton’s side and plastering himself in front of the window, letting his eyes check out the displays just on the other side of the glass. 

After a minute or so of staring at the displays, the heat from Ashton’s body is flush against Michael’s right side. “Thinking of getting a new one soon?” 

“Always am,” he answers honestly. “Just have to save up the money.” He always has some extra cash set away, could afford a tattoo now if he wanted, but just a few weeks ago, he was panicking about needing scrubs. Something much worse could happen, and he wants the cash just in case. 

“Aren’t you worried about your future profession or whatever?” Ashton asks. 

Truthfully, Michael doesn’t spare too much thought to it when he chooses his art. “If I keep my wrists clear, I’m fine. Besides, the medical field is easing up on restrictions.” 

“What do you think you’ll get next?”

“Not sure.” Michael shrugs. His eyes are drifting to a feather design, but he doesn’t know if he likes it on its own or because it’s similar to the tattoo Ashton has on his arm. “I never really plan them, do I? Just get whatever I’m feeling.” It’s quiet as they look inside together for a moment. “If I can maintain my GPA, I’ll get one in June.”

Ashton hums quietly at Michael’s decision. “Like a reward for yourself.” Michael nods. “I’m joining in too, then.” 

“You’re not in school.”

“If I still have my job by June,” he specifies, “I’ll get a new tattoo.”

“So if they fire you?” Michael asks, letting himself laugh at the return of their joke. 

“Which they probably will.” Ashton rolls his eyes, finishing Michael’s thought, and Michael’s smile cannot be stopped “Then I’ll never get another tattoo.” 

Michael shakes his head. “Good luck with that.” 

He pushes himself away from the glass, hands returning to his pockets to pull his hoodie around him tighter. Ashton falls into step beside him easily. “Really, though. I’ll go in on the bet with you.”

“Not a bet.”

“Reward then,” he corrects. Michael doesn’t say anything. “You’re so incredibly motivated, and it’s really inspiring. If you can keep up your GPA, then I can try and keep my job.”

Logically Michael knows that Ashton was only saying it to justify his addition to Michael’s reward system, but it’s still a compliment, a  _ genuine _ sounding compliment on something other than his eyelashes or his cheekbones, and he can feel himself blushing. He doesn’t even know if he can blame it on the wind, not with how fast the red fills his face.

“I’m not that motivated,” he finds himself muttering. 

“How long have you gone without a date?” Ashton asks suddenly, and Michael’s well aware that he already knows the answer. 

“That’s different.”

“It’s not,” Ashton says, finality in his tone. Michael bites his lips and shrugs. Ashton’s right, it’s not different, but he doesn’t want to admit that. “Come on.” Ashton’s words are accompanied by a sigh and his arm wrapping around Michael’s shoulder. He guides them around a corner and together they walk back to Michael’s apartment. 

They don’t say much, not that they ever need to. Like always, it feels so right to just  _ be _ with Ashton. It’s quiet, and lovely, and Michael almost doesn’t want the night to end. But it has to because this isn’t a date. They’re just two friends hanging out, and they have their own lives to go back to - lives that don’t have anything to do with each other… 

And that’s fine. It  _ is _ . It’s just… fine. 

When they get to Michael’s building, things don’t feel tense in their silence. Ashton’s arm is still heavy around his shoulder and Michael’s leaning heavily into his body. “Thanks for walking me home.” 

“Not a problem.” 

He wants a chance to talk to Ashton more, to extend their time together by just a bit. “Do you want to come in for some coffee or something?”

Ashton laughs, pulling his arm away from Michael, and begins walking backwards. “This isn’t a date, Michael.” Then he turns and makes his way back the way they came, leaving Michael standing alone in front of his building, wondering when the hell things became so confusing. 

➻

When Michael gets a test back with a solid  **‘100’** written on the top, the first person he thinks to call is Ashton. Before his parents, his sisters, and even his best friend in the entire world - he’s standing outside the lecture hall, dialing Ashton’s number before he realizes. 

The phone rings three times before there’s a click, an odd sigh, and then Ashton’s confused voice asking, “Michael?”

“ _ Ashton _ ,” Michael breathes. “Hi. You’re not busy, are you?”

“I’m always busy,” he answers cryptically. Michael opens his mouth, about to apologize when Ashton’s laughing, “I’m just kidding. I never do anything here, you know that.”

“So you were sitting in your big office just waiting for me to call?”

Ashton hums, and the sound comes through the line a bit tinny. “Not quite. My office is terribly small. There’s enough room for a desk and a chair and that’s it.”

“Right,” Michael laughs. He starts to walk, making his way home. It’s useless to stand in front of the building just for a phone call. “So you were sitting in your  _ small _ office just waiting for me to call?”

“Of course not.” Ashton sounds appalled at the idea, but Michael can hear the smile in his voice. “I was avoiding emails and doing some editing.”

“I can really tell you love your job.”

Ashton laughs, and it warms Michael up. “I do, actually. I just still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“One of these days you’ll have to tell someone, you know,” Michael says, and Ashton scoffs immediately in response. 

“That sounds terrible.” 

Michael doesn’t disagree, but he doesn’t say that. He needs to be supportive as a friend, not encourage Ashton to continue to stay quiet despite fearing there’s something wrong. “The sooner you do it, the less trouble you’ll get in.”

“Or I could keep doing my best at nothing, and just hope I keep my job.” 

For a moment, Michael stays quiet, lets silence fill the air between them, but then he’s singing, “You’re gonna be  _ fired _ .”

“I actually tried asking a coworker for help today,” Ashton tells him, chuckling. “Just with catching up on the emails I’ve filtered out.”

“And how’d that go?”

“She asked me on a date.”

And just like that, the earlier joy he felt is gone. His stomach sinks and he can’t do anything by hum. “A-and what’d you say to that?” He feels so transparent. Speaking is like swallowing glass. 

“No, obviously.” If Ashton were here, Michael would imagine he’d be rolling his eyes. “I wanted work help, that’s it.”

“You could’ve pawned off your work on her, though,” Michael suggests, cursing himself for not letting the subject just drop. 

“But I would’ve had to sit through an uncomfortable date, knowing I’m not interested in her at all.” The words aren’t said for Michael’s benefit, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t filled with a sick sort of satisfaction that Ashton’s not interested in his coworker. “Is there a reason you called?”

Michael almost forgot, but at the reminder he lets the animated smile return to his face. He’s passing his classmates as he walk, and feels a bit like an idiot, but it doesn’t bother him. 

“I got back my respiratory illness test, and I aced it.”

Ashton breathes in audibly, a gasp. “That’s amazing, Michael.” His voice is soft and sincere and everything that Michael expected. “I’m so proud of you.” It’s exactly why he called Ashton first. 

“It’s nothing,” he laughs, shaking his head, “but I really wanted to call you. I don’t know why.”

“No, I’m glad you called, Michael,” Ashton rushes to say. “Really, though, you’re too smart  _ not _ to have aced it.”

“You don’t even know what it was about, really.”

Ashton hums, not arguing with Michael’s point. “I didn’t even know you took a test on it in the first place, but that doesn’t make me any less impressed.” 

“Stop…” Michael’s blushing, feeling like a bit of a fool, but in the best way possible. 

“Hey, work’s kicking my ass right now,” Ashton says suddenly. 

Michael hums. “You said you weren’t doing anything.”

“Yeah, and it’s exhausting,” he teases, and Michael laughs quietly at the smile in his voice. “Let me take you out for lunch to celebrate.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal - ”

“It was,” Ashton insists. “Don’t belittle your work.”

It’s not that Michael isn’t proud of himself, and it’s not that he doesn’t think Ashton’s being sincere. It’s just that hearing Ashton’s words, so open and honest and  _ kind _ , it’s all a bit too much, too overwhelming. 

“Really, it was just a unit test.”

“And it was a unit test that you aced.” Ashton’s not letting him get away without accepting the praise, and that almost makes things worse in an absolutely wonderful way. “You should be proud, and we should celebrate.”

Michael’s blushing, and biting his cheek doesn’t hold his smile back at all. “If you want, I guess - ”

“ _ Perfect _ . Can you meet me on Third and Hampton in twenty?” Ashton asks, and Michael gives his affirmation. “I’ll see you there, babe.”

The line goes dead and Michael’s left standing on the sidewalk just outside of campus, smiling like an absolute idiot. His stomach is fluttering and he’s looking forward to letting Ashton treat him for his good grade and  _ oh _ … 

He’s acting like a kid with a crush, and it’s not the worst thing in the world. 

➻

Michael’s a little out of his element with the subject matter on his upcoming pathology test. He’s filling out index cards and has absolutely no clue what he’s writing down. He’s copying straight from the study guide, but the words aren’t registering in his head. 

He still has over a week until the test, but at the rate he’s going, he’s not going to retain any of it. He’s been taking breaks by reading the book, but he can’t focus too heavily on it. Every time he feels himself delving deeper into it, he’s brought out of it with the panic of needing to study - something he just can’t seem to make himself do. 

It’s as he’s contemplating tearing his hair out in frustration of not being able to focus that there’s a knock on his bedroom door - three steady taps. ”Working hard or hardly working?” 

At the familiar voice, Michael looks up, feels his brow dip in confusion to see Ashton leaning heavily against the doorframe. There’s a heavy blanket hanging over his left forearm, and in his right hand he has a plastic takeout bag. It’s the first time he’s ever been over, Michael’s realizing, and he looks so right standing in Michael’s space.

He likes it as much as he fears it. 

“That was terrible,” he says, not letting himself smile, even when Ashton does. “By far the worst thing you’ve ever said.” 

“I’ve said far worse,” Ashton insists.  

“Like what?”

Tilting his head and rubbing his left hand against his chin, Ashton pretends to think on it. “Probably everything I’ve ever said and everything I ever will say.” He looks serious, but Michael knows he’s holding his humor back. 

“So with that logic,” Michael starts, trying to maintain the same control as Ashton, not letting himself grin either, “that joke, that awful, unoriginal joke, was the best thing you’ll ever say?”

“Precisely.”

“You’ve peaked, then?”

A smile breaks through and Ashton nods once. “I believe so.”

“Well, it’s all downhill from here.” Michael shrugs. “Should be an exciting ride to watch.”

Ashton’s chuckling, shaking his head, and Michael’s so in awe of him. He’s just so relaxed, making these jokes, being goofy, and not letting anything stop him from having these moments. He worries and has fears just like everyone, but he never cracks, never turns into an inconsolable, stressed out mess like Michael. It’s admirable, and Michael’s not afraid to admit that it’s a big part of why he’s so attracted to Ashton. 

Well,  _ that _ , and the fact that he’s all of Michael’s wet dreams wrapped into one. 

“Are you busy?” Ashton asks. 

Michael holds his flashcards up, skin heating at the idea of Ashton hearing his thoughts. “Hot date with my study guide. Gonna be up all night, and we’ll probably share the bed tonight.”

“I’m turned on already.” Ashton bites his lips and Michael can’t help but grin. Everything is so fucking easy with Ashton. “When’s the test?” 

“Next Monday.”

Ashton hums. “You’ve got ten days.”

“Nine.”

“Same thing.” It is, but Michael’s not going to give in, not when Ashton’s smiling like he’s just cornered Michael. “Come hang out with me.” 

Ashton flicks his head to the open hallway behind him, and Michael suddenly wants to know what’s in the bag. He wants to know what Ashton could have possibly brought to convince Michael to leave his uncomfortable bed and nonsensical flashcards in favor of hanging out with Ashton, spending the night smiling at each other and having a good time instead of stressing out over a test that he fears he’ll never be able to pass. 

There could be a raw fish in the bag, and Michael’s sure it’d pull him away from his work. 

“Depends on what you’ve got,” Michael teases instead of admitting his willingness to Ashton. 

“Pad Thai and sweet green curry.” He lifts the bag up slightly and Michael hears himself moan. Ashton lifts his left eyebrow. “Is that a yes?”

Michael narrows his eyes. He was going to give in regardless, but he doesn’t like Ashton’s smarm. “You knew what you were doing, didn’t you? Knew I couldn’t say no.” 

“Well I wasn’t going to bring something you hated,” he says. Michael sighs dramatically then starts sorting his notes, clearing his bed to make room. 

“Bring it over.”

Ashton smirks and slowly starts backing away. “I’m not some cheap delivery boy that you can just use. You have to do something for me.”  

Instead of asking what Ashton wants from him, not wanting to encourage his odd behavior, Michael let’s his face fall flat. Taking his silence as a refusal to acknowledge it all, Ashton flicks his head as he turns around. Michael doesn’t follow him, confused with how vague and weird he’s being by not answering. 

“Come on,” Ashton yells after a moment. Michael watches for a second until Ashton turns a corner, and then stands, deciding wherever Ashton’s dragging him, it has to be better than his own room. He’s almost in the hall when - “Coat, babe.” 

With a loud, exaggerated groan, Michael pulls his sweater from his desk chair and follows Ashton. They walk out of the apartment, but instead of going down the stairs, Ashton guides them up. 

To the roof. 

It’s cold out, the early April chill in the air accompanied by the wind off of Lake Michigan have Michael shivering as he watches Ashton unfold the thick blanket and lay it out on the roof. It’s dark out, but Michael still gets to appreciate the view. Chicago may not be the city that never sleeps, but it sure is lively with lights filling the sky and a slight energy radiating from the streets - even all the way up here. It’s entirely lovely, and even though Michael doesn’t know what they’re doing, he’s still happy to be here. 

Though, he wishes he would’ve grabbed a thicker coat. 

When the blanket’s set up, Ashton sits cross-legged on it and starts to unpack the takeaway. It’s a minute before he realizes Michael isn’t on the ground with him, so he pats the blanket next to him, eager grin aimed at Michael. He rolls his eyes buts sits down anyway, accepting the foam container Ashton hands to him right away. 

“I got a large of both,” he explains. Michael opens his own container to reveal the green curry. That must leave the Pad Thai for Ashton. “I figure we can just pick off each other’s plates.”

“That’s alright with me.” Michael starts eating before Ashton even gets his open.

There’s a chuckle and Michael looks up to see Ashton watching him with amused eyes. “Hungry?”

“Very.” He’s mumbling, his mouth too filled with curry to be clear, but it makes Ashton laugh, so Michael isn’t embarrassed. He finishes chewing and swallows, smiling widely at Ashton when it’s all down. “What are we doing up here anyway?” 

“There’s a meteor shower tonight, actually. Thought this might be something you’d like.” 

Michael watches Ashton for a moment, takes in his soft grin and honest eyes. He’s nothing short of breathtaking on a normal day, but when he does these small simple things, Michael’s head gets a bit fuzzy with it. “This isn’t a date, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Ashton laughs. 

“Just making sure.”

If Michael were ready to start dating again, he’d want this. He’d want nights alone on the roof and sharing takeout. He’d want the bookstore dates, silent films, watching meteor showers on the roof and teasing each other until they’re both giggling. And he’d want it all with Ashton. 

This isn’t a date, it can’t be, but God does Michael wish it was. 

“Hey, I’ve got a question,” Michael says suddenly. Ashton looks up, white plastic fork halfway to his mouth, and raises his eyebrow in question. “How’d you get inside?” Ashton looks around for a moment before Michael clarifies, “My apartment, I mean. Calum wasn’t home, how’d you get in the building?”

“Your front door was open,” Ashton flicks his head towards the door to the roof, and Michael watches as a bit of his Pad Thai plops back in the container. “I just waited downstairs until somebody left and snuck in.” 

“You’re the weirdest person I know,” Michael tells him. “Why wouldn’t you just call me?”

“Would you really have let me in?”

Michael frowns. “Of course.” He doesn’t know why Ashton thinks he wouldn’t. He’d never said no to Ashton, never been able to. “Always.” 

As Michael watches Ashton blush, he immediately feels stupid. This is so much more than a friendship, and the fact that he’s pretending it’s not is ridiculous. He glares down at his food as he considers just how terrible it would be to give in, to end his celibacy now. It was put in place because Michael wasn’t ready to settle down, but he thinks he might be. 

Suddenly Ashton gasps, and Michael looks up to see the meteor shower starting. It’s beautiful, of course it is. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen before. But Ashton’s eyes, a gem shining in the moonlight, are by far the most stunning thing tonight. 

Together they sit back and watch, eating their food and enjoying the moment. It doesn’t last too long, but by the time it’s over with, the food’s nearly gone, Ashton’s smiling to himself, and Michael’s absolutely shivering. “You want my coat?” 

The offer sounds incredible. More than anything, Michael wants to be wrapped up in Ashton’s coat, warm and cozy and surrounded by something so uniquely Ashton. But it’s too close to ‘date territory,’ and he’d rather freeze than give in, let himself have this, and get too attached before really even deciding if it’s worth ending his celibacy over. 

“I’m alright.” Michael waves his hand, ignoring the shake to it. “The curry’s a bit spicy, should warm me up.” 

Michael’s almost finished with the curry, and it’s done nothing to warm him up. Ashton can see that, and looks hesitant to move on, but he shrugs and doesn’t offer again. “Your choice, I guess.”

“So how’s work?” Michael asks, resisting the urge to bite his lip and hide his face at the odd tension. “Still faking it?”

Ashton laughs. “I think I’ve got the hang of it now. All my emails are being filtered out, so I only get the urgent ones, and I’m mostly just reading and sorting through manuscripts.” 

“That’s all you do?”

“I set up meetings with authors sometimes,” he lets his words hang like a question. “But that’s about it.”

“Seems like what you were doing before.”

“It basically is,” he says, tilting his head each way, “but I don’t actually edit, and I don’t run for coffee.” 

The curry’s gone cold in Michael’s container, so he reaches for Ashton’s pad thai. “Aren’t you a junior editor?” It isn’t any warmer. “Like isn’t that your title?”

“Weird, right?”

Michael laughs through his food, shaking his head as he swallows. He takes another bite, and when he looks back up, Ashton only looks confused. Michael laughs again, harder. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re gonna be  _ fired _ ,” Michael sing-songs. 

“You keep saying that.” Ashton’s grinning really big, completely transparent in his joy. It makes Michael a bit breathless. 

“You keep giving me reasons to.” 

Ashton closes his container. There’s still a thin layer of Pad Thai in one of the compartments, but Michael doesn’t say anything about it, just lets Ashton put it back in the plastic bag and roll his eyes. “Just because I’m not running myself ragged like you are, it doesn’t mean I’m not doing my work.” 

“Running myself ragged?” Michael frowns at the harsh - but not ill willed - words. “I am not.”

“You are,” Ashton insists. “You study every moment of your life.”

He used to, he did. He was so far in his studying he didn’t even remember what it meant to have a life, but lately, the past month and a half, he’s been a lot more relaxed, enjoying life more. He’s been taking the little things and making them the big things, finally letting the stress leave his body so he can let more light in. 

He doesn’t say it, but Ashton’s definitely making life easy. 

“I’m not,” he repeats with more certainty. “I’m finding more time for myself.”

“Yeah? Does reading help any?”

With Ashton’s eyes on him, heavy and inquisitive, he feels like he’s standing under a microscope, his every minute detail being examined in excruciating solicitude. He purses his lips in thought.

“Sort of, I guess,” he answers, staring at his curry. He’s moving his food around with his fork, too distracted to continue eating. “I’m almost done with the book, by the way. Only twenty more pages or so.” Ashton smiles and it just makes Michael open up more. “I don’t know if it’s an all the time hobby for me, but it’s definitely shown me that I benefit from taking a break.”

“I’m glad you’re not working yourself into the ground anymore,” Ashton tells him. “I was worried about you for a bit.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Worry about yourself,  _ Ashy _ . You’re the one that’s about to lose his job.” 

Easy as anything, Ashton bumps their shoulders together. “I’ll have you know that Bryana would never let that happen.” 

“ _ Bryana _ ?” Michael’s nose scrunches as he repeats the name. “Who’s that?” 

“A coworker,” Ashton says like it’s just a casual conversation and not a confusing, possibly jealous moment for Michael. “I told you about her, didn’t I? She’s the one that asked me out.” Michael swallows dry, still staring down at his food. “Keeps asking me out, really.”

“And you keep saying no?” Michael feels choked up. He can feel Ashton’s eyes on him and focuses on moving his food around the takeout container 

“I do.” 

Michael nods. “That’s cool.”

“Michael, I…” Ashton huffs, and Michael can see his hand reach out and pull back in an aborted movement. “Michael, can you look at me?”

Despite wanting to say no, to keep staring at his food, Michael curses and then looks at Ashton. His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks nervous, or maybe worried - or maybe Michael’s just projecting his own feelings onto him. 

“Can I…” Ashton never finishes his question, but he doesn’t have to. Michael knows exactly what he’s asking for when he starts to lean in. 

A kiss. He’s asking if he can kiss Michael. Michael, who hasn’t been kissed in almost two years. And it’s tempting,  _ so _ tempting, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to fall back into the dating pool again. It’s something he’s considering, but he doesn’t want to make the decision when his hands are turning blue and his stomach is full of green curry. 

He’s saved from having to commit to a choice by his phone beeping loudly in the air between them. Ashton looks on with wide eyes, but Michael jumps and grabs his phone from his pocket, trying his best not to show his mix of relief and disappointment. 

“It’s Calum,” Michael breathes. “He’s wondering where I am.” He looks up and Ashton’s staring at him expectantly like a question, like he needs to know if they can pick up where they’ve left off or not. Michael makes a decision. “We should get back downstairs.”

Ashton’s lips flatten for a moment before he licks them, nodding, and then it’s all smiles. Like the moment never happened. 

“I’ll grab the garbage and the food if you can take the blanket,” Ashton offers, already picking up Michael’s empty container from his lap.

“Absolutely.” 

It’s quiet as they clean up and make their way down the stairs. While it seems alright and Ashton’s not letting on any reaction to Michael’s hesitant rejection, Michael know it isn’t. He let them both down tonight. 

➻

Whether it was the cold weather on the roof and his lack of proper outerwear or just a case of bad luck, Michael feels himself coming down with something. It’s clogging his head and making it difficult to focus on anything other than his own misery, but he’s still insistent on studying. 

He’s been holed up in the library for the past few hours. It’s nearly midnight and he still doesn’t know a goddamn thing. He only has four days left to learn his entire unit, but he’s lost. He’s beginning to wonder if he’s even taken a pathology course or if it all was a fever dream, a result from whatever’s making his head pound like heavy footsteps on linoleum. 

His head feels so full, but not with knowledge, not with the things he  _ needs _ . It’s full of air and heat and pressure. He’s also freezing cold, but he’s sweating through his shirt, so he doesn’t know what the fuck is happening or what the fuck he’s supposed to do.

He feels a hand on his shoulder suddenly and jumps. He turns, expecting it to be the cold, clammy claw of death, but it’s just -

“ _ Ashton _ .”

“I called like four times,” Ashton’s saying. His voice is far away, but Michael can still make out his worry. “It kept going straight to voicemail.”

In the six hours Michael’s been here, his phone hasn’t rang once. He turns in his seat, reaching in his pocket for his phone. He taps the button on the side a few times, but it won’t turn on. “It’s dead.”

“I figured as much. Calum said you’ve been here all day, is everything alright?” He speaking so softly, so kindly. Michael wants to cry. Ashton sounds so nice, but everything is so hard. 

“I’m so  _ stupid _ .”

Ashtons cautious smile immediately drops as does his body as he falls to his knees beside Michael. “Don’t be silly, Michael. You’re one of the smartest people I know.” Michael shakes his head. “You are, you  _ are _ . You’re clever and insightful and determined as hell.” 

“Then why can’t I understand this?” Michael feels a bit like a child, like he might burst into tears right this very moment in the middle of the med school library. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed about it - that’s how low he’s gotten. 

“You look ill, babe.” Ashton’s hands reach up to Michael’s face, holding it still as he looks in Michael’s eyes. “I think you’re having trouble retaining the information because your body’s too busy focused on trying to get better.” Michael frowns and looks back to his cards, but reading makes him dizzy. “I think you should go home, get some soup in you, and sleep through the night.”

In terms of getting better, it’s probably the best idea, but in terms of maintaining his GPA, it sounds horrible. He still has so much work to do. “Who gets sick in  _ April _ ?” 

“It’s  _ early _ April,” Ashton corrects. He sounds a bit like Calum when Luke gets petulant - kind and reassuring, and like a  _ boyfriend _ . It makes Michael feel warm. “Which means it’s still cold at night. And refusing someone’s hoodie when they offered it wasn’t the best idea.” Michael glares at Ashton, but he only chuckles. “Here, you start packing up your things, and I’ll call us an Uber.”

“ _ No _ .” Getting a car in the city is too expensive, and it’s not worth it. “I can walk, I swear.”

“I know you can,” Ashton says, his thumb reaching out to stroke Michael’s cheekbone. “You’re strong, and so damn stubborn, but It’s a little chilly out, and I don’t want you getting any sicker.”

He wants to argue, to fight Ashton’s insistence to get them a car, but he’s just too tired. He pouts and puts his stuff away, huffing every time to let Ashton know he isn’t happy about it. 

Ashton lets him throw his tantrum, but he rides in the car with him, carries his bag up the stairs, and even makes chicken noodle soup from a can for him. Michael doesn’t let him spoon-feed him, but Ashton still offers. 

Twice. 

Calum mocks them the entire time, but Ashton doesn’t trust Michael to make his own food, and he’s right not to. Just to protest being pulled out of his studying early, Michael would’ve been happy to lie in bed a read his flashcards. 

He doesn’t say that having Ashton take care of him, be there every step of the way, actually helps clear his head. 

When Michael makes his way into his room, Ashton follows closely behind, nearly stepping on his feet. “I’m alright from here, I promise.”

“Grab some pajamas,” Ashton tells him, not listening to Michael at all, “and put them on I’ll be back in five minutes.” 

Michael scoffs. “I’m not a child.”

“But you are sick, and I want to make sure you’re alright. The last thing you need is to get even worse and have to miss school.”

Again, Michael doesn’t say it, but Ashton’s right - he’s  _ always _ right. He leaves the room and Michael changes into his pajamas, wishing more than anything that Ashton was in there with him so he could hear Michael’s comments, murmured under his breath. It’s childish, he knows, but Ashton’s taking care of him better than he could ever do himself, and he’s a little bitter about it. 

Or really, he’s bitter about how good it makes him feel. 

When Ashton comes back in the room, he beelines for Michael’s desk, picking up his beaten, battered copy of  _ The Beautiful and Damned _ . “I was thinking I could finish your book for you maybe?” He’s flipping through the pages with deft fingers. “Read for you as you fall asleep?”

“I’m finished,” Michael says, his voice half-muffled by his pillow. Ashton looks to him, eyes wide. 

“Really?” He sounds more excited than surprised. “What’d you think?” 

“Was good,” Michael answers shortly. “I liked when Anthony met Dorothy.” It’s not that he liked the context of it, but more of what it represents. He’d have more to say were talking not a feat in itself. 

“I’ll read that then,” Ashton decides. Michael groans as Ashton crowds into his bed, and he moves over, listening to Ashton chuckle at his efforts. He stays lying flat on his bed, cheek squished into the pillow, and Ashton leans heavily against the headboard. 

Ashton starts reading, and as much as Michael hates that he’s being babied, he absolutely loves Ashton’s voice. It’s calming and sweet, and when Ashton’s hand weaves itself into Michael’s hair, playing with the soft strands, Michael all but melts into the mattress. He doesn’t even have it in him to be upset or ashamed, not when being cared for feels so good. 

He decides then. If Ashton truly wants him too, he’ll give up his celibacy in an instant. This, right here, is what he wants. 

➻

A few days later, Michael wakes up an hour and a half late, and from there, things only get worse. 

The coffee machine fizzles out halfway through pouring his drink, and he’s left with a mug full of bitter water. He tries for a second one, but the result is much worse and it leaves their kitchen smelling like smoke and coffee.

Instead of getting in a fight with the appliance - something he has no doubt Calum will be doing when he wakes up - Michael sets the kettle on the stove, settling for tea, as he goes to shower and get dressed for his morning classes. 

The water is cold - because of course it is - and he drops his already nearly empty shampoo bottle on the floor spilling some it in the process. There’s enough left for him to wash his hair today, tomorrow as well, but he’ll need to do some shopping as soon as possible. The biggest issue comes when he nearly breaks his neck trying to step out of the bathtub. 

His tea doesn’t steep for nearly enough, but he’s in too much of a rush to worry about it, drinking it with a wince before setting his mug in the sink, knowing Calum will yell at him about it later. 

Not wanting to waste his money on an Uber, he takes the train, cursing when it’s delayed four minutes, wishing more than anything that something,  _ anything _ could go right for him. 

The class stares at him when he wanders into the lecture hall fifteen minutes past the start, the professor even stopping his speech until Michael takes his seat, cheeks red and heart pounding. 

Things run smoothly until his last class of the night when they get their exam results back, and Michael holds his breath. 

Thanks to Ashton, Michael got over his cold relatively quickly in comparison to how terribly he was feeling at the start of it, and he made it to his exam on time, but without any confidence in his answers. He was hoping for a B, but expecting a C+. 

Which is why it’s so devastating when the professor hands him his papers back, a frown resting tensely on his old, pale face, and Michael sees a red ‘ **62%** ’ written boldly at the top. There’s a line of students behind him waiting, so Michael can only walk out of the hall, chest tight and eyes blinking rapidly to hold back the oncoming assault of emotions he’s feeling. 

It’s the lowest grade he’s gotten since freshman year of high school when he was still adjusting to the sheer volume of homework, and Michael’s not sure if he should be angry, upset, or even if he should begin to doubt his future in the medical profession. 

As he walks across campus, he holds the paper taut in his two hands,  the words all blurring together as tears form in his eyes. 

It’s not his best day. 

All he can think to do, all he  _ wants _ to do, is see Ashton. He doesn’t even realize he’s started on the route to his apartment until he’s halfway there, feet leading him quickly across town as the sun sets in the sky.  

He gets there, hands cold from being exposed to wind  the entire route, but he hardly notices it, only focusing on the sudden feeling of rage that hits him - feeling as though the moment it got dark, so did his headspace.  

The front door is locked, and if Michael had had the ability to stop and think about it, he’d realize it’s a smart idea, but as it stands the fire in him burns brighter. Luke answers the door, opening it and saving the wood from Michael’s harsh fists. His face lights up, a wide smile taking over his ridiculously pink lips, and his arms stretch out, inviting Michael into a hug.

Michael ignores the greeting, the welcoming blue of Luke's eyes, and stomps his way to Ashton’s room, throwing the cracked door all the way open. 

Ashton’s sitting under his open window, a blinded manuscript in his hand, and for a brief moment, he looked genuinely in awe of the words on the pages. The handle of his bedroom door bangs against his wall, and quickly pulls him out of his bubble. He jumps, mouth forming a small ‘o’ when his eyes land on Michael. 

There’s a smile, a lovely one, but it only lasts a moment, disappearing entirely when he sees Michael standing there, looking livid, feeling the rage brewing inside of him at everything but especially at himself. 

The walk over allowed him time to reflect, to really think about what happened, about how severely he let himself down, let one stupid cold stop him from acing the exam, from bringing home the grade he wanted, the grade he  _ needed _ . 

Now he’s pissed - feeling nothing but a strong hatred for himself, for his distraction. He wants to be sad, wants to fall into Ashton’s arms and cry on his shoulder. That’s not going to happen, not when he can’t stop shaking, the paper a lead weight, dragging his mental state lower than it’s been since he first went celibate. 

“Michael, are you alright?” Ashton dog ears his manuscript and pushes himself off the ground quickly, smart enough to not try and approach the shaking man. 

“No!” Michael yells. He can’t look at Ashton, can’t let the soft grin and kind eyes make him feel better when all he wants to do is scream. “I got a D on my test.” He shakes the paper around. “It’s going to drop my GPA.” 

“Not necessarily - ”

Michael rolls his eyes at Ashton’s efforts to console him. “I have to ace every test I take in that class just to maintain it. There’s no chance it’ll go up.”

For a moment Michael just pants, staring at the open window, wondering why the breeze isn’t cooling him down. Ashton slowly walks forward, arms stretched out as if to grab at Michael’s shoulders but there’s no contact made. 

“Take a breath, babe,” he says. “You’re alright.” 

“I’m  _ not _ .” Michael stomps his foot, feeling petulant and juvenile, but it makes him feel better, feel a bit of relief. “I just feel stupid. If I’d have studied more - ”

“Then you probably would’ve landed yourself in the hospital, babe.” Despite Michael’s loud voice and the tense set of his body, Ashton is radiating calm. Michael doesn’t want to admit it’s helping him feel better. “You needed to rest.” 

And he knows Ashton’s right, doesn’t think he could ever say the wrong thing in Michael’s company, but all Michael wants to do it be mad, is to express his anger, his distress. He let his sickness keep him from studying, and it’s going to cost him everything he’s worked so hard for in medical school - in his entire college career, honestly. 

“Hey.” Ashton lowers his hands down, looking far less defensive but just as caring as always. “We’ve got some beer in the fridge if you want to wind down a bit.” 

The offer is tempting. Drinking away all of his stress is exactly the type of thing that usually helps him alleviate the tight ball of pressure in his chest, but actually sitting down, drinking away his worries and relaxing - it seems counterproductive to the part of him that wants to huff and stomp and throw a temper tantrum at just how unfair this all is. 

In the end, the fear of him being kicked off the Dean’s List wins out, and Michael figures it couldn’t hurt to get completely fucked up. 

“Anything harder?” he asks. 

“Tequila?”

“Perfect.”

At the bitter intonation, Ashton smiles - only it doesn’t reach his eyes. The silent disapproval of Michael’s negativity doesn’t sit well on his face, and Michael wishes for a brief moment that’d he’d never come over, that he didn’t bother Ashton with such a trivial thing. 

But then Ashton returns with a nearly full bottle of tequila and all of Michael’s regrets are washed away, hopeful with the promise to soon be off his ass. 

In Ashton’s other hand sits a bottle of apple juice, and Ashton chuckles at Michael’s confused frown. “It was all we had.” Michael shrugs and reaches for the the tequila, ignoring Ashton’s thinned lips as he passes it over.

It’s silent as he takes his first drink, feeling Ashton’s eyes watching him as he winces, the liquor burning his throat at it goes down. Michael welcomes the pain - a sort of penance for letting his academia slip for something as silly and throwaway as a cold. 

“Feel any better yet?” Ashton asks. 

Michael doesn’t answer right away, instead takes another swig of the golden drink, wishing for it to take effect quickly and wipe his mind clean of all his worries. 

“Not yet,” he says. Ashton hands over the apple juice after Michael’s third drink, and Michael coughs as he takes a drink. It’s too sweet, not mixing well with the the bitterness of the tequila. “That’s a terrible mixer.” 

“It’s all we’ve got though.”

“I’ll drink until it tastes good then.” 

It doesn’t feel good, drinking instead of confronting his problems. He recognizes that it’s unhealthy and in the morning he’ll regret it for more reasons than just his hangover - something he plans on getting, not caring enough now to bother with water. 

Ashton reaches out and grabs the liquor from Michael’s hand, leaving him with just the apple juice for a moment. Michael bites the inside of his cheek at the cute pout on Ashton’s face when he pulls the glass bottle away from his lips. It’s not a look that belongs on his face but Michael can’t help but admire it. 

It’s  _ Ashton, _ after all. 

They make their way to the bed, sitting back against the solid oak of the head board, passing the bottles back and forth, taking small drinks so as not to let of the alcohol disappear too quickly. 

It’s quiet, sounds from the street drifting in and the occasional pained gasp from Michael or Ashton when the alcohol hits them too hard, but it gives Michael the chance to reflect on himself, on how he’s feeling. 

He’s not feeling drunk, that’s for sure. 

There’s still anger inside of him, it’s still holding strong, and he wants for nothing more than it to go away, to vanish. For the alcohol to burn it away. He wants to feel angry at himself, but he doesn’t want to do it near Ashton, Ashton who’s his reason for being so happy of late. 

Ashton, who also stopped him from studying and indirectly cause him to fuck up on his exam. 

Honestly, Michael doesn’t know why he thought drinking could solve this, but it’s too late to turn back, so he turns to Ashton instead. 

“Are you drunk yet?”

“It’s been twenty minutes. Nobody’s drunk yet,” Ashton says, a wry grin on his face as he follows his shot of tequila with the juice. Michael pouts - he’s not drunk either, and he wishes this would go by faster. “Do you want to talk it out? “ Ashton asks. “Maybe get to the root of what’s bothering you about the grade?”

Michael scoffs, ripping the glass bottle from Ashton’s grip and downing another bit of the tequila. 

“My GPA could drop,” he bites. “I worked so fucking hard all year, and one lousy cold is about to knock me off the Dean’s list.” 

“So you’re mad at the cold, then?”

Michael shrugs. “The grade, myself, the cold,  _ you _ .” He tilts the neck of the bottle at Ashton, looking at him with eyes showing far more sadness than anger. He doesn’t  _ enjoy _ being angry at Ashton. “I’m mad at everything.” 

“At  _ me _ ? What’d I do?” Ashton’s eyes are wide and his hands moving in short, aborted gestures, sloshing the juice around. 

“You made me sleep.” Even as he says it, Michael realizes how petty and completely idiotic his accusation is. “You stopped me from studying.”

“I helped you get well.”

“Yeah, a  _ little _ ,” a lot, “but you could’ve, I don’t know, read my study cards.”

Michael finishes his words with another shot, and Ashton watches on, smiling the first genuine grin he’s had since Michael’s arrival. “Oh so I should’ve studied  _ for _ you, is what you’re saying?” He snickering, but Michael absolutely doesn’t find it cute. 

He does, actually, but only a little, and he puts it down to the alcohol finally hitting him. 

“Yeah, actually,” Michael says, letting heat bleed into his tone, but feeling ingenuine with it. “Instead of reading me the story I’d  _ just _ finished, you should’ve read off my study guide. Maybe I would’ve been able to think about something other than Gloria and General Lee in the middle of the exam.” 

Ashton takes the bite in stride, letting himself grin. “Is that really what you were thinking about?” 

“I don’t remember a single thing.” Michael shrugs. “All I know is that it wasn’t what I needed to think about.” Ashton’s lips thin, and Michael’s stomach twists. “I really did like the book though.” 

“Yeah?”  

“It was a bit one-sided,” he says, facing forward, his eyes a steady gaze on the lightswitch next to Ashton’s closed door. “I don’t think Fitzgerald really writes outside of his own perspective often, but it was still lovely.” 

Ashton chuckles warmly, and Michael can feel his focus leaving Michael’s face. “ _ Lovely _ .”

“It was!” Were it any other day with any other reasoning behind their seeing each other, Michael likes to think he’d be smiling, nudging Ashton’s shoulder as they both giggled and teased each other. As it stands, all Michael can feel is a sudden numbness. The anger drifting away at Ashton’s smile, not being replaced with anything other than a complete disinterest in his own emotion. “I think there’s something to be said in the way everything played out. A quiet beauty in the negativity of each person.” 

Ashton shrugs, the movement jostling Michael’s thin frame. He turns, watching as Ashton takes a rather large swig of the alcohol. He’s taking it much easier now than before, not cringing as hard afterward, and no sounds of pain either. He thinks maybe Ashton’s feeling the effects as well. 

It’s sweet, Michael thinks to himself, how Ashton was so willing to drop everything to drink with him, to help him get through his moment of panic and anger and distress. If they were anything other than what they are, he’d think there was something behind his actions, something sneaky and possibly even with the connotation of Michael being something more than a friend. 

He knows that’s not it, though. As great as Ashton is, and as wonderful as they are together, Michael knows they’ll never be anything more than friends. They had a chance, just two years ago, but Michael wasn’t in the right place. He waited, and now his opportunity is gone. 

Now it’s just him, his celibacy, and a bottle of Jose. 

Michael bites his lip as Ashton takes another drink. His eyes track the way Ashton’s throat bobs, swallowing the liquid. “Why are you drinking?” he asks softly. “Is something wrong?”

“Solidarity for you,” Ashton tells him, swinging his gaze back to Michael. “I’m kind like that.”

It’s goofy, like everything Ashton does is, and it makes him smile, feeling genuine for the first time today. 

“Of course you are.” 

The silence blankets them again, and Michael can feel the liquor sitting in his stomach. It’s not long until it hits both of them more roughly. 

They pass the bottles, and it gets easier. It all gets easier. Drinking, his anger, the pain of the day, and the fear of his failures. It all starts to numb, to ebb away from the surface and leave him a calm shell of tequila, apple juice, and something else he can’t describe - something he only feels when Ashton’s next to him.

“I think they were selfish,” Michael says suddenly. He doesn’t know where it came from as he didn’t have anything on his mind other than Ashton, but when Ashton hums, sounding like a question, Michael realizes it’s a leftover thought - something that was sitting in his head minutes ago but had gone unsaid. “Anthony and Gloria.” 

“Of course they were.” Ashton agrees easily, his voice soft, warming Michael up quicker than the alcohol ever could. 

“I know that’s the general tone of the book, that everybody’s selfish and it leads to a lot of their problems,” Michael rolls his eyes, “blah blah blah.” Next to him, Ashton giggles and it echoes in Michael’s ears. “But I think it runs deeper than that. I think they were inherently bad with their love.” 

Smile evident in his voice, Ashton asks, “Why do you say that?” 

“Personal experience leads me to believe that putting yourself first when it comes to love is a pretty terrible thing to do.”  _ Personal Experience _ is code for his past, all of the people he’s met and given himself to selflessly, holding no love, but still having a healthier arrangement than the main characters of  _ The Beautiful and Damned _ . “There’s no love in selfish actions, and that’s all they were about. They only cared for themselves.” Michael takes another swig of the bottle, glad to see just how much they’ve drank. “Bunch of pricks.”  

It wasn’t much of a joke, but Ashton chuckles anyway, his thumb stroking Michael’s hand as he steals the bottle back.”I think we’ve drunk enough to not have to discuss the philosophy of a book nearly one-hundred years old.” 

“If not now, then when?” Michael asks, laughing as he watches Ashton drink some more. 

More than half of the bottle is gone, and Michael feels substantially lighter, so he sits and watches Ashton take a few rounds to himself. And when his tongue chases a rogue drop of the liquor, it takes effort for Michael not to moan. 

He begs his mind to stay clean, to not travel to the place it goes when he’s alone with only his hand, some lube, and thoughts of Ashton. What were they talking about anyway? 

“If they were selfish with each other, I don’t things were good at all,” he says suddenly. Ashton watches him, but doesn’t reply. “I looked the story up before I began it. Needed to see what I was getting myself into, babe.” Ashton laughs at Michael’s added explanation. “It’s said that the story’s based off Fitzgerald and his wife.” 

“It’s believed to be.” 

“If that’s so, I don’t know how they’re such a romanticized couple.” 

“They balanced each other out a bit, I believe,” Ashton says. “Where he was quieter, she was louder.” He pauses for a moment. “It’s a nice thought.”

It is, Michael supposes. A nice thought, that is. He hums, leaning his head against the headboard, keeping his eyes trained on the top of the doorframe. 

“I bet the sex was terrible.”

The apple juice Ashton was drinking bubbles in the bottle as he laughs into it. “ _ What _ ?”  

“I bet it was real vanilla,” Michael continues, a small smile playing at his lips. “Her on bottom, him on top. Probably a few minutes each time, no foreplay.”

“Why?” Ashton’s not laughing anymore, but he has a goofy grin. Michael can’t pick his head up. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s all there in his words, babe. Couldn’t you read?”

“It’s not an erotica.” Ashton laughs once, leaning forward a bit, enough for Michael to catch the shock and amusement on his face. “He never mentioned their supposedly terrible sex life.”

Ashton says sex like it’s any other word. Like it doesn’t hold a dirty connotation. Like it doesn’t send fire in Michael’s veins and his blood rushing south, thoughts of Ashton saying much worse, much filthier, into Michael’s ears, voice just as husky, skin even warmer. 

“He didn’t have to,” he manages to say through his dry throat. “He danced around it. They were selfish, they only cared for themselves and what the other could give them, they didn’t take the extra time to care for the other.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Ashton shakes his head twice, then passes the bottle back to Michael. “Drunk now?” 

Michael shrugs, takes a shot anyway. “Probably. I don’t hate the apple juice anymore.” 

“That’s a sign, then.” 

Michael chuckles, but it doesn’t hold much humor at all. The room is getting smaller and his skin feels tighter. It’s not the alcohol this time. “I don’t think they know just how good it is when you care about someone.” His voice is much deeper now, and he can feel Ashton’s eyes on the side of his head. Michael doesn’t turn - doesn’t risk it. 

“Yeah?”

And Ashton’s voice doesn’t sound so silly anymore. It’s a bit desperate, and Michael loves it maybe too much. “Yeah,” he sighs. “When you want to take your time - how good it feels when the other person loves it. How good it is to be teased.” 

“Michael - ”

“The best sex I’ve ever had…” He chuckles and shakes his head, tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip. It’s dry and he’s suddenly incredibly thirsty, the memory hitting him full force. “He made me forget my own name.”

The side of Ashton’s head gently falls next to Michael’s on the headboard and he’s staring. “Yeah?”

Michael doesn’t think Ashton’s going to say anything else - doesn’t think he  _ can _ \- but Michael doesn’t care. He likes the power it gives him to have all of Ashton’s attention, likes the control. 

“We were at it all night. He did this thing with his tongue - ” he cuts his own words off with a sigh, not able to describe it without making it a full on show. “I made him teach me how to do it. Couldn’t live knowing there was someone out there more giving than I was.”

Blood is rushing past Michael’s ears, tunneling so all he hears is the hitch in Ashton’s breath and his own steady, pounding heartbeat. For a brief moment, he thinks maybe it wasn’t a bright idea to drink so much, but it passes quickly. He can’t say he regrets it, not when it’s the closest thing to intimate Michael’s felt with another person in nearly two years. 

It’s addictive, this feeling he has as he talks about sex, about hot and  _ satisfying _ sex, with the star of his wet dreams listening, looking at him as though he’s made of gold, shiny and valuable, and something most people only dream of. 

Even so, he doesn’t have it in him to face Ashton, can’t bear to see the look on his face, the heat in his eyes. Even just  _ feeling _ it is enough to have Michael squirming a bit. 

He can see Ashton licks his lips in his peripheral. “So you’re pretty giving then,” he asks. “Selfless?”

“All I care about is making sure neither of us can walk when we’re done.”

Michael feels warm suddenly, overwhelmingly so. His shirt is sticking to his skin, and there’s heat climbing up his neck. Even with a slight breeze rolling through the window, it’s not enough. 

“What’s your guilty pleasure then?” Ashton’s breath is hitting his neck just barely, and Michael hums quietly, a question. “What’s the one thing you want - the one thing that‘d beat everything else in bed?”

It hits Michael then that this - what they’re discussing, how they’re behaving - is definitely not what friends do. Friends don’t talk about their deepest desires, want thrumming under their skin as the string of tension between them pulls this tight, as though it could snap any moment. 

That makes him like it so much more. 

Michael knows already about his favorite thing his bed, the one thing he’s missed most in his celibacy. He doesn’t need to think about it, not when it’s ingrained in his mind so vividly. He doesn’t need to wait even a moment to say it, but he does. He lets himself a moment to think about whether he really wants to say it, whether this moment - arousing and exhilarating as it is - is worth saying something so unbelievably out of bounds for their friendship. 

“I like it when I get to be in control,” Michael says suddenly, hand gripping his own thigh tightly. He decides then and there, when Ashton breathes in shallowly, the air hissing between his teeth, that it’s most certainly worth it. “I like laying them back, sitting on their dicks, and getting to be in control.” The air stills around them, holding in place. “In a completely selfless way, of course.” 

“Of course.” The words, while appearing to be joking, are accompanied by a groan, a deep, rumbling groan, that hits Michael in his core. 

He lets himself think, lets his mind wander to  _ Ashton _ being the one under him, hands wrapped loosely around Michael’s as he helps slowly lower him on his dick, only to swat them away when he gets his balance. It sends a thrill through him and he moans to himself. 

He turns his head finally. “What about you?” 

Ashton doesn’t answer at first, just stares at Michael, his eyes hooded, almost appearing black with how dark and foggy they are. Michael bites his lip and watches as Ashton tracks the movements with his eyes. 

“I like being called daddy,” he confesses eventually, eyes still on Michael’s lips. 

“Yeah?” Michael asks, voice soft, a whisper of what it’s been. Ashton nods. “That’s all you need? Daddy?” Ashton closes his eyes and Michael watches the red come to the surface of his cheeks. “Just one little word, and that’s all you need?” 

Michael’s a bit disappointed when Ashton doesn’t react to the teasing, instead keeping his eyes closed. His skin is flushed, and not just from the liquor, but Michael wants more, wants to see how far he can push Ashton, how red he can make his skin, and how dark his eyes can go. 

So he leans in, letting all thoughts of friendship and celibacy fly out the window, focussing all his attention on the man in front of him, and whispers, “ _ Daddy _ .”

It all happens quickly, his reaction, but Michael sees it in slow motion. Ashton opens his eyes, his mouth slightly parted, and he’s beautiful, an absolute vision. Michael’s head is fuzzy, the alcohol having affected him more than he realized, but none of this matters when Ashton’s eyes are on his, intense and unwavering, saying everything Michael’s been afraid of. 

That they both want this. 

Neither of them are surprised when Ashton leans in, but as their lips meet, they both gasp. Michael melts into it, letting Ashton’s lips close around his own, a desperate sound clawing its way out of his throat as electric shocks bite at him. 

It’s wonderful, everything Michael expected, had wanted, but it doesn’t last more than a few seconds. As Michael leans into Ashton’s body, his tongue flicking across Ashton’s lips, Ashton pulls back, eyes wide and full of shock, but not the kind of surprise Michael was wanting to see. 

“That was wrong of me,” Ashton says slowly, his words a contradiction to the desire his eyes had shown just moments ago. “I’m sorry.” 

“You were alright - I liked it.” 

Michael leans in to kiss him again, images of Ashton’s tongue in his mouth flashing behind his eyes, but Ashton backs away, not giving into Michael. He pulls himself off the bed completely, standing with his hands running anxiously through his hair. It’s not exactly in the tone they had been going for. 

“You’ve gone two years without sex,” Ashton says hurriedly as though Michael isn’t already aware and ready to end it. “You don’t need me to fuck that all up for you.”

“Twenty months.”

“Even worse,” Ashton bites. Michael’s words don’t have the desired effect of calming Ashton down. If anything, they only make him worse. “You’re so close to a goal.”

“I don’t care.” Michael stands, staggering a bit as he tries to find his footing. He wants to walk around the bed, to grab Ashton and get it through his skull that it doesn’t matter what he decided way back then, not when the past few weeks of them being together have made Michael realize he wants nothing more than Ashton. 

He doesn’t make it around the bed, though, not when Ashton’s already backing towards the door, eyes wide at the prospect of Michael getting any closer. 

“I’m going to get you some water and an aspirin for the morning,” he says. “You can have my bed, I’ll bunk with Luke.”

“Ashton - ”

“Michael, please,” he pleading, desperate, and not for something he wants - it’s for what he  _ doesn’t _ want. “You can’t make decisions for yourself like this. I - we both made a mistake.”

And it shocks Michael silent. He frowns, not sure how to react. His thought process had always been around the idea that he’d give up his celibacy if Ashton wanted him back. That he was ready to settle into something serious with Ashton and Ashton only. 

But that’s not the case. 

The thought that Ashton thinks he’s a mistake is acid in his throat. It’s something he’d considered, something he was okay with, but after letting himself believe this was mutual - it’s devastating. And Michael wants nothing more than to disappear completely. To go back to mid-March a few weeks back and stop himself from walking into that soul-crushing bar. 

It’d save him all the heartbreak he’s feeling now. The pain too much to comprehend now, his inebriated mind sending thoughts of doubt and self-hatred and regret to him. 

“Right.” Michael nods, his voice coming out choked-up. “You’re right. I should - I’m drunk.”

And he is, but that’s the least of his worries. As bad as he is now, Ashton always makes him feel twice as out of control. It used to be a thought he welcomed, but now it only makes him want to be sick. 

Ashton grabs a soft pair of pajama pants out of his drawer and hands them over. Michael takes them with tentative hands, making sure none of his body touches Ashton’s. It’d all be too much. 

In the morning, he wakes up alone in Ashton’s bed with a pounding headache and the bitter taste of stale alcohol and regret in his mouth. He drinks the rest of his water from the night before and makes his way to the kitchen where Ashton’s cooking breakfast. They exchange brief smiles, and everything feels normal. 

Only now, all Michael can think about is how they’re on different levels completely. Before, it was a suspicion, a feeling of doubt. Now that it’s confirmed though, that Ashton doesn’t see him as anything more than his pathetic friend, a drinking buddy who can’t pass a fucking test - 

Now it’s all too real. 

➻

Most of Michael’s life as of late has been consumed with school, reading, and Ashton. He’s not had much time to really focus on much else. His friendship with Calum has slipped through the cracks a bit, and while Calum insists it’s not that much of an issue, he still uses it as a tool of persuasion to force Michael into helping him prepare for a bake sale. 

Luckily he’s not the only one that got roped into helping. Ashton’s currently manning the mixing section, making batter for the five-hundred cookies and one-hundred cupcakes they have to make. Luke’s pouring and baking, Ashley’s decorating, and Michael’s packaging it all up. Calum says he’s perfect for the job due to his thin, nimble fingers. 

Calum, despite common opinion of him being a slacker, is actually jumping from station to station, helping, and making sure that everything's going perfectly. It’s a bake sale for his little cousin’s school, so he’s taking everything almost too seriously. 

“Looks fun over here.” Looking up from where he’s tying a ribbon around a baggie of three cookies, Michael sees Ashton, and he can’t help that his automatic response is to smile. 

Things between them haven’t exactly been off, but they’ve definitely been spending less time together, and it’s not fun. Michael just wants to go back to being best buds. Pals. Good ol’ friends that don’t kiss and call each other sexy nicknames. 

“It’s a riot,” Michael tells him, tone flat despite the grin on his face. “I’ve never felt such enjoyment in my life.”

Ashton laughs, stepping forward and letting his finger trail over the empty flat boxes that still need to be set up for the cupcakes. “Do you want some help?”

“I would love some, actually. Everytime Calum comes over and he sees how much I have left, he gets angrier.” Michael’s fingers feel like they may fall off, stiff and sore from all of the tying he’s doing. 

“I’m almost tempted to see how mad we could make him,” Ashton teases with a smirk. He reaches out for the boxes and starts constructing them. 

“I’d say let’s do it, but I think Ashley’s already making him angry enough.”

They look over and Calum's standing right behind Ashley, chin just  _ barely _ making it over Ashley’s shoulder, as he stares down at the cupcake Ashley’s decorating. His eyes are furrowed and his lips pursed, like he wants to say something. 

Ashton shakes his head, chuckling quietly to himself, and then he focuses on his boxes. He’s a natural, doing everything perfectly, and Michael’s almost jealous of how quickly his fingers move, setting everything up. He’s definitely an asset. 

It’s then that he realizes that he’s focusing so intently on Ashton’s work ethic that he’s spent the last five minutes not speaking, letting them sit in silence, which is exactly what it’s been like the last few days. 

So he bites the bullet and talks first. 

“How’s work?” 

“How’s school?” 

They talk at the same time. Both laugh, Michael a little more breathless with it. He shakes his head. “You go first.” 

“How’s school?” Ashton repeats. 

“I meant you could answer my question first,” Michael says. He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth at the grin Ashton shoots him. “School’s alright. I have an exam coming up for incisions that I’m definitely not prepared for, but I think I might be able to pull it together.” 

“As long as you don’t get sick, right?” 

Michael can’t stop himself from grinning at the tease. “Right.” 

_ This _ is why they work. Because Ashton’s charming and wonderful and it’s so  _ easy _ for them be near each other. Just because Michael wants to sit on his dick, and maybe marry him as well, doesn’t mean they can’t be them. It doesn’t have to get in the way. 

“You know, if you need help at all, I’m there for you,” Ashton offers. 

“It’s not exactly a study card kind of deal.” If it was, he’d ask Ashton to read to him as he fell asleep again. Previous sickness and tense drunken kiss aside, Michael can still want Ashton to read to him. Even if he doesn’t reciprocate Michael’s feelings. “It’s a physical test where I have to make incisions.”

As though he was reading Michael’s mind, Ashton asks, “So I couldn’t read to you as you slept? That wouldn’t help.” 

“Not in the case, no.” Michael hides his blush by keeping his head down, staring at the bag of cookie’s he’s tying. “Were it say, a week and a half ago - ”

Ashton’s laugh is cut off by a shriek. They both look over to see Calum's face completely pale and his hands gripping his hair tightly. “The roses are PINK, Ashley, the  _ carnations _ are red. What are you  _ doing _ ?” 

Ashley doesn’t look like she finds Calum's yelling funny this time around. Her entire body is tense, and she looks about ready to start swinging. 

“Hey, that’s alright,” Luke says. His voice is soft, like it is when he’s helping Calum babysit his cousin. “The icing hasn’t set yet, you can change it.”

Ashley rolls her eyes, but Michael knows she’s thankful for the save. Calum makes his way over to Luke’s station, eyes critical as he pours the batter, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind. 

“So work…” Michael brings up, pulling Ashton’s attention back to the table. “How’s it going?” 

“As stressful as always.” 

“Still avoiding emails?” he asks. 

“As best I can,” Ashton sighs. “I’ve gone through so many manuscripts it’s insane, but they still haven’t sent me anything to edit.” 

That seems off to Michael. He looks at Ashton, studies him a bit before realizing he’s being honest. “That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure you’re not just missing something?”

“I sure hope not.” Ashton laughs, but it’s stilted “If so, that’s two months of manuscripts gone unedited. They would’ve noticed by now, right? Said something to me?”

“You’re gonna get  _ fired _ ,” Michael sings, finding himself smiling when Ashton laughs even harder. “What about everything else? How’re things going with your coworker? The annoying one?” The one that keeps asking him out, Michael thinks solemnly. 

“It’s just getting to be an effort to say no.” Ashton rolls his eyes. “I’m not into her, but I feel bad for turning her down.”

Michael wants to say a lot of things. He wants to tell Ashton that he may not be interested in his coworker because Michael’s sitting right in front of him, clearly interested. He wants to say that maybe it’s a struggle to say no because he’s already turned down another great person, and he feels guilty doing it twice. He wants to tell Ashton to forget that girl he works with because Michael’s ready to drop his stupid pact to celibacy and give himself to Ashton completely. 

Instead, though, he schools his face, doesn’t let anything show, and says offhandedly, “Then don’t.”

Michael can feel Ashton’s eyes on him when he looks up. It’s like the night they kissed but darker. There’s no sexual tension pulling them tight, and the fact that they’re sober only makes Michael’s shoulders tense. 

“What?”

“Stop saying no,” Michael clarifies, not looking up from his work. “You should at least give her a chance. It’s not like you’re seeing anyone.” He takes a breath that feels he’s swallowing glass. “It’s not like you’ve got someone else that’s asking you out. You should grab someone while you can.” Ashton watches him, but Michael doesn’t stop his work. 

“Are you serious?” Ashton asks. The shock is evident is his voice, and Michael doesn’t have to look up to know Ashton’s glaring. Michael’s heart is pounding, and he really doesn’t want Ashton to date his coworker, but if it takes the focus off of their stupid kiss, then he’s all for it. He nods, not meaning a bit of his affirmation. “I’ll go, then.”

“Cool,” Michael says, shrugging in hopes that he comes off nonchalant. “Whatever.” His voice is shaking all over the place. 

“ _ Cool _ .  _ Whatever _ .” Ashton’s words are said with a bite, with venom dripping from his tongue. Michael closes his eyes, shaking his head as he stops himself from engaging with Ashton’s bad reaction. “You’re so fucking stubborn, Michael.”Ashton slams one of the cardboard boxes on the table, crushing it under his heavy palm. He ignores Calum's outraged  _ Hey _ and walks away from the packaging table. 

A few minutes later, Michael allows himself a look, and he see Ashton at the mixing station with Luke, despite the fact that Luke’s basically done. 

The tension in the air is pulled tight, but it will all be fine soon enough. Michael just needs to move on. 

This is for the best. Because even if he did want to throw it all away for Ashton, even if he’s starting to think that he’s gotten the most he possible can out of dating himself and is ready to settle down, to be monogamous and committed - 

Ashton thinks Michael’s a  _ mistake _ . 

➻

The night of Ashton’s date, Michael drinks until he’s sick. 

He’s alone in his room, having turned down invitations from Calum, Luke, and - oddly enough - Ashley’s girlfriend. He knows they only meant well and were trying to distract him from spending his night brooding. 

He deserves to brood, he thinks. It’s been a long journey, and just when he’s finally ready to get off the train, his stop was taken off the map. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance to get off, but he doesn’t want to wait, not when his legs are asleep and his back is sore and -

Where was this metaphor going? 

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is he’s drunk and alone and it’s all because he’s a baby and can’t handle the fact that Ashton only wants to be friends. 

Halfway through his bottle of whiskey, Michael’s phone buzzes. It’s the group chat Ashton made all those weeks ago - still unnamed - and it seems Ashton’s sent a picture. 

When Michael opens it, it feels like porcelain cracks are cementing themselves to his heart. Ashton and his precious  _ Bryana _ are at some sort of museum, posing in front of a piece of phallic-shaped art, making silly faces at the camera. It’s adorable and awful and Michael wishes he could disappear. 

He makes a decision, then and there, to tell Ashton the truth, to let him know that he’s in love with him, and that he knows Ashton doesn’t see him like that, only sees him as a  _ mistake _ , and he’s alright with strictly maintaining a friendship. 

Even though being friends hurts. 

Because being friends with Ashton is like dating the best man he’s ever known, and then going home alone at the end of the night, knowing they’ll never be anything. It’s a tease and it  _ hurts _ , but at least he’s with Ashton at all. 

Michael’s in love with him, and given the chance, he’d give up his stupid pledge in an instant. He’s found himself and he’s found Ashton, and only one of them is worth his whole heart. 

But it’s clear now that Ashton doesn’t want him. 

➻

They’re fighting. 

It’s been tense between Ashton and Michael. Not in an obvious sort of way, and not in any way filled with hurtful words and actions. It’s not like when Michael told Luke about Calum's hesitation for them to move in together. There’s not yelling, and cursing, and throwing plastic cups on the floor in a passive-aggressive morning rage. 

With Ashton, fighting is worse. Because Michael could handle yelling, and if Ashton wanted to throw a plastic cup on the ground, at least it’d make things easier. Michael would take all of the cursing he could from Ashton. What he can’t do, what’s been tearing him apart, is the radio silence. 

Ever since Ashton’s date with Bryana, since he got that terrible picture of them posed together in front of the penis art, the unspoken tension between them has only gotten stronger, less bearable. And if he took pleasure in drawing a stupid little mustache on Bryana’s mousy face in photoshop, then it’s entirely his own business. 

It’s not only their friendship that’s been affected either. Michael’s schoolwork, while always a source of stress, has suddenly been brought back to the level of intensity it was at before Ashton made his way into Michael’s life. 

The incision exam is coming up in a week, and Michael’s been going crazy with worry. The online simulations have long since stopped helping, and his hand hasn’t stopped shaking long enough for him to get a solid practice in. It’s worse than when Ashton was wrapped around his body, teaching him to shoot pool. 

It’s worse because at least he had Ashton with him then. 

He’s tried reading, and it sometimes can calm him, but only minimally and - if he’s being honest with himself - not really. Every time he tries to open a book, to achieve some type of escape, all he does is think of Ashton inside the bookstore, crouched behind a shelf, letting his fingers dust the spines of books like the ones Michael’s trying to read, and he gets too sad to continue. 

It’s a cycle of non-progress, and it’s driving him absolutely insane. He can’t have Ashton, and he can’t have his escape, and his studies are failing him. It’s worse than beginning his celibacy, because at least then, Michael was only missing sex. Now he knows what it feels like to be in love with Ashton Irwin. 

He wants to reach out, to be the one to make an effort and patch things up, but he doesn’t know if Ashton even wants to hear from him. For all Michael knows, he’s over their friendship, and done dealing with Michael. 

So when Ashton’s face appears on Michael’s phone, chirping ringtone repeatedly beeping through the room, it’s a welcome and confusing surprise. Welcome, because there’s nothing on Earth that Michael wants more right now than to hear Ashton voice, but surprising because it’s almost midnight on a Tuesday night. 

Michael answers his phone, saying Ashton’s name softly, hoping it wasn’t a pocket dial and that Ashton actually does want to talk to him. Ashton sighs at Michael’s voice, and when he starts talking, his own voice is thick, wavering. “Michael, hi. Hello. Are you - you’re not busy, are you?” 

“I was about to go to sleep, actually,” he answers honestly, “but - ”

“No, that makes sense. You should do that.” In the background, it sounds like wind is whipping. Michaels wonders if Ashton’s outside, and if so,  _ why _ . It’s so late and must be cold. “You don’t get enough sleep. I’m sorry for calling. Just, go to bed.”

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks, not letting Ashton hang up, not when he seems so harried. “You sound panicked.”

Ashton laughs, and it hurts to hear. “That’s uh - ” he cuts himself off with a laugh. “That’s because I am actually.  _ Very _ panicked. It’s really hard to breath” 

“Where are you at?” If Ashton were at home, in his bed where he  _ should _ be, Michael would advise fresh air, but maybe that’s a part of the problem. “Are you outside?”

“I’m on my way home from the office,” Ashton says. 

“Babe, it’s midnight.”

Ashton laughs again, it’s sounding colder each time. “I’m aware.”

“What’s going  _ on _ , Ashton.” It’s late, Michael’s head hurts, and Ashton’s being so incredibly weird. He’s answering in riddles, dodging Michael’s questions. It’s been a few days since they’ve last talked, but all Michael wants to do is get to the root of the problem and help. “I’m worried.”

Ashton sighs, and it’s devastating. “You were right, Michael.” He’s not crying yet, but Michael can hear in his voice that he’s close, that he’s teetering on the edge of cracking. “You were right. I’m going to get fired. Tomorrow morning.”

Without letting himself think about it, Michael grabs his hoodie and heads to the living room. Ashton needs him, and midnight or not, he won’t be stopped. 

“What makes you say that, babe?” he asks, sliding his shoes on, not caring that the backs of them fold in. He needs to be there for Ashton. He makes his way out of the apartment the moment his shoes are on. 

“I told Bryana about my emails - ” Ashton starts. 

Michael curses under his breath, pausing his steps. If this is about  _ Bryana _ , Michael doesn’t want to get in the way or even hear about it really. Except he does. He shakes his head and keeps going, out his front door. This is about Ashton, and that’s all that matters. New boyfriend aside, Ashton’s distressed, and Michael’s his friend. 

“She said I needed to read through them because just because it wasn’t addressed to me doesn’t mean there wasn’t something important. I laughed it off, but i looked at my emails at lunch and they’ve been sending me manuscripts to edit through. They were sitting in the fucking conference room, waiting for me, and I have ten that are due by _tomorrow_ _morning_ , Michael.” He’s breathing heavy, sniffling every few words. “They’re going to _fire_ me, you were right. I’m so stupid. I don’t know what I’m doing and they’re going to call me incompetent and blacklist me from every publishing firm in the fucking country and then I’ll have to - ”

“Ashton, listen to me,” Michael cuts him off. He can hear Ashton spiralling, and though Michael’s on his way to Ashton’s apartment, he won’t be there for a little bit, and doesn’t want Ashton to go off the rails. “I need you to breathe.” He can hear Ashton through the phone taking in hiccupping breaths. “I’m getting an uber, and I’ll be to yours in ten minutes tops.” 

“Michael, no - ”

“Too late, babe,” Michael stops him. “I’ve already called.” He hasn’t, but Ashton wont stop him from doing it. “How many manuscripts did you do already?”

There’s a bit of silence, but then Ashton’s sniffling. “I did three, and I’m almost done with a fourth.” 

“See, that’s perfect.” Michael’s voice is quiet, soft. It’s the kind of patience he shows when he talks to kids in the hospital and Calum when he’s going through a breakdown. It’s how he is with the people he cares about. “Finish up the one you’re on, and that leaves three for each of us.”

“You’re going to help?” Ashton asks hesitantly. 

“I have a degree in English.” 

“You do?”

Michael laughs. “No,” he answers. “But it was my minor in college. I promise I’ll be able to help.”

The whistling on the other end of the line stops, and Ashton’s sigh replaces it. “I just got home.” 

“Great,” Michael’s grinning, hoping it conveys in his voice, that it’s at least a bit of encouragement for Ashton. “Go finish that manuscript and I’ll be over as soon as I can be.” 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. We have a long night ahead of us.” As soon as the line goes dead, Michael’s pulling up his app and calling a car to meet him at the corner of the street he’s on. 

When he gets to Ashton’s, the door is unlocked and there’s two pairs of shoes placed neatly just off the carpet placed at the entryway. Michael adds his own to the pile, throwing his jacket on the back of the couch, and makes his way towards Ashton’s room, where Ashton is under his window with a red felt pen in his shaking hand, going through a thick manuscript. His eyes are puffy, his cheeks splotched, and his lips bitten red. 

He looks like he’s been beaten down. 

“ _ Babe _ .” At Michael’s voice, Ashton stands up, dropping the manuscript without so much as dogearring it, and throws himself into Michael’s waiting arms, his head tucking into Michael’s neck.  

The tears quickly follow. 

It’s no wonder Ashton’s the one holding Michael together all the time. Michael cracks easily, and putting him back together takes nothing at all, but when Ashton cracks, he breaks. He’s nearly inconsolable at this, and Michael’s chest aches for him. 

He holds Ashton for no longer than two minutes. He’d comfort him as long as it took if he had the time, but they’re in a bit of a crunch. When Ashton pulls back, Michael smiles at him, lips thin at the severity of distress on Ashton’s face. He reaches up, cupping Ashton’s cheeks in his hand and wiping the runaway tears from just under Ashton’s eyes. 

“Let’s get started, huh?” He keeps his hands on Ashton’s face. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.” 

Ashton smiles, lets out a small laugh, and Michael wants to be the one to make him do that for the rest of his life. 

They get to work quickly. Ashton still has about thirty pages of the fourth manuscript left to edit, so Michael grabs the thickest binded manuscript - along with a red felt pen - figuring it’s best to get lighter as they go. Ashton retakes his spot under the window, and Michael gets comfortable on the bed. It’s a long night from there. 

It’s not like when they’re usually together, teasing and taunting and making each other smile, sharing the small moments like it’s the only thing that matters. It’s a lot of work, none of which requires any talking, and Michael finds himself growing tense in the silence. Everytime Ashton gasps or laughs or groans, it’s music to Michael’s ears. 

The only reprieve from the work is just how amazing the manuscripts are - so full of detail and  _ life _ . They pull him in easily, and he actually has to reread multiple passages at a time, just because he forgets he’s supposed to be editing them. 

Altogether, though, it’s completely worth it. Sitting in silence, having to backtrack in the books because of his own forgetfulness, it’s decidedly not a burden - if only because he’s going through it all with Ashton. Just being in his company, having him in his life, it makes every hour they’re up worth it. 

He doesn’t think they’ve never been just friends. Maybe at the beginning, maybe when they got coffee, maybe when Michael was teasing him in the thrift shop, but the moment Ashton handed him a beaten down copy of  _ The Beautiful and Damned _ , looking at it with those pleading hazel eyes like it was something of value, looking at  _ Michael _ , like  _ he _ was something of value, it all changed. Something fixed itself in Michael's life, and things became wonderful. Ashton helps him breathe. 

Without him, Michael would be buried in schoolwork and gasping for air. 

They could have never been friends, not with how kind and patient Ashton is. Michael was fucked from the moment Ashton hopped in the back of the moving van and gave Michael the most uncomfortably charming handshake of his entire life. He didn’t know it then, but looking back there was never a chance for them to be platonic. 

Michael doesn’t say anything, not now. They’ve got work to do, manuscripts to edit, and silence to tolerate. Michael needs to tell Ashton, needs to get it all off his chest eventually, but he’s not in any rush. 

Just like always, Ashton is the cure to Michael’s rushed mind. All of the stress from earlier has seemed to have evaporated, his mind is calm, and his hands have lost their shake. He’s back to the steady, reliable hands a good doctor needs, and Michael’s a fool if he thinks it’s anything but Ashton’s presence that fixed him. 

It’s nearly seven, the sun having already started to rise, when Ashton closes his final manuscript. He chuckles as he does, and Michael can hear the relief and disbelief in his. He sets his completed work in the pile that’s formed sloppily on the floor.

“I’m going to take a shower, okay?” he stands up and stretches. Michael can hear his back  _ pop _ into place. “I’ve got a meeting in an hour.” Michael nods, but doesn’t look up. 

“I’ll be done when you get out.” He still has good fifteen pages to get through, but so far this one hasn’t required a lot of edits. 

Ashton makes his way out of the room, and as he passes where Michael’s sitting hunched over on the bed, he runs his fingers through Michael’s hair, and Michael leans into it. Any sort of contact with Ashton is great, but this is just intimate enough to make his body sing. 

And it’s not even in a sexual way - he just genuinely loves being with Ashton. 

The final manuscript is finished not long after, and throwing it on the pile feels like a victory. Michael doesn’t leave it there long, though, and when Ashton comes back from his shower, Michael’s sitting in the middle of the floor, neatly packing Ashton’s briefcase with all of the work they’ve managed to do. 

He looks up to smile at Ashton, to share in their triumph, but he sees the other man in just a towel. “Oh.” He looks down quickly, back at the briefcase. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” there’s a smile in Michael’s voice, but he knows if he looked, Ashton would be blushing. “I forgot to grab clothes.” 

Michael shakes his head. Ashton didn’t forget his clothes. It’s not something he ever has to bring with him because Michael’s not ever sitting in the room waiting for him. Michael should be the one to apologize. 

He doesn’t, though, just maintains his focus on the leather case in front of him so as not to make Ashton uncomfortable. “I finished the last bit, and all ten manuscripts are in the bag,” he explains. “I should be heading home.” 

It feels weird, Michael notices. Without the panic of needing to do all their work, Michael’s hit with reality. He’s terribly in love with Ashton, and Ashton called him a  _ mistake _ . They need to work things out, and Michael needs to be real about his emotions. Though right now it sounds like a terrible idea. All he wants to do is head home and get ready for his morning class. The idea of, after such a long and exhausting night, getting shut down again, sounds like something Michael doesn’t want to sit through. 

He just wants to leave. 

“Hey, actually,” Ashton’s voice stops Michael as he’s standing. “Can you just wait in the living room for me? I want to talk before either of us leaves.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Michael nods, dry swallowing around the curses he wants to let out. “No problem at all.” He bites back a ‘ _ babe _ ,’ and it feels stilted and wrong to him. He needs to tell Ashton about his feelings, make things equal so they can get back to normal. 

He goes to the living room, putting his hoodie on and grabbing for his shoes. One of the pairs from the night before is gone, so Luke must have left for classes already. 

It’s not a long wait for Michael. He’s only on the couch for a few minutes, and when Ashton’s comes out, he’s as handsome as ever. Michael doesn’t know how he ever thought he could have strictly platonic feelings for him, not when he looks the way he does, even with a nervous smile lighting up his face. 

“You wanted to talk,” Michael reminds him. 

Ashton nods, his lips are flattened and his left eyebrow is curving in. Even with the tension between them pulled tight, it’s nice to see such a familiar look to make things easy. “I feel like things have been off between us. We haven’t talked since the whole…” He waves his hand in front of him, gesturing at nothing. “Cupcake confrontation at yours and Calum's place.” 

“I, uh…” Michael shrugs, feeling himself avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know why.” Ashton bites his lip. Michael definitely knows why. “But I’d like to put that behind us.” 

“Me too.” Ashton’s smiling, but it’s not all the way there. They stand in silence for a few moments before he adds, “And, I know it’s completely unrelated, but Bryana and I didn’t work out.” 

Michael does his very best to contain his smile, to keep his face completely neutral at Ashton’s news. He doesn’t want to give away just how light it makes him feel. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah, it is.” It isn’t, and Michael’s pretty certain Ashton can see right through him. They stare at each other for a moment, and then they’re both smiling. Just like normal. “I should probably be headed out.”

“Me too,” Michael sighs. “I’ve got a class at ten.” 

Michael goes to turn but Ashton’s hand on his shoulder stops him. “Thank you for coming out here and helping.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It definitely was,” Ashton says, voice holding a finality to it that Michael can’t argue with. “If there’s anything I can help you with, I want to. I’m there already.”

Michael thinks it over, tries to remember if there’s anything Ashton can help with but comes up blank and ends up shaking his head. “The only thing I have coming up is my incision exam.”

“Cool.” Ashton nods once like he’s made a decision. “I’ll be over tomorrow night?” 

It makes Michael tilt his head. Ashton knows what incision means, he knows that it’s not something he can really help with. “I have to practice cutting people. I’d have to draw all over you.” 

“And? Is that it?” Ashton’s grinning, as bright as ever, acting like it’s no big deal to let Michael pretend to cut into his body. He just wants to help, and Michael loves him. “I’ll be over at six.” 

➻

Ashton doesn’t show up until seven-thirty. 

In his message, he apologizes seven times throughout his explanation of a meeting that ran long. Michael tried to understand what else he was saying in his text, but it was difficult reading between the lines especially with everything he has planned for tonight running through his mind and trampling his cognition. 

The thing is, Michael knows he’s in love with Ashton. It’s not just an idea, a fantasy, or a possibility anymore - it just  _ is _ . 

And he plans on telling Ashton as much. 

He’s knows his feelings won’t be reciprocated, and there’s a large possibility of Ashton being so uncomfortable with Michael that their friendship ends then and there, but Michael has to tell him. There’s an imbalance between them, with Michael’s feelings going unspoken, and it’s unfair to both of them. 

So he plans on saying something today, on sitting Ashton down the moment he gets here, and telling him of the love Michael has in his heart for him. He doesn’t expect things to be entirely positive, but he’s willing to sit through it if only to make things right between them. 

He’s settled in his decision, confident enough in them as people to be able to get through such a serious and upsetting talk, but that doesn’t mean he’s absolutely confident in it. He’s spent most of the day pacing, working a small indent into his carpet with all the shuffling he’s done. 

He nearly talks himself out of it a few times, especially when he thinks about how close they were to sleeping together when they’d first met. Ashton was ready for Michael, willing to fall into bed with him, but Michael turned him away, and was content in ignoring him for nearly two fucking years. 

It’s only fitting that when Michael’s managed to sort himself out, to find himself and make himself ready for a relationship - a  _ real  _ one with feelings and conversations and acting nauseating around their friends because they’re in love and they  _ can _ \- Ashton turned him down.

Michael was ready to end his vow of celibacy, and Ashton called him a  _ mistake _ . 

There’s a taste of bitterness in Michael’s mouth, but he bites it back, swallows it and doesn’t let himself go back on his choice. He can’t let Ashton’s lack of romantic feelings affect him so negatively. He needs to stay optimistic because, more than anything, the most important thing is that their friendship is saved, revived, and they’re both on the same page. 

When Ashton finally makes it over, he’s just the slightest bit sweaty. It’s still a bit chilly in Chicago, always is with the wind, but the sun was high today, shining down and making it just  _ that _ much hotter. Ashton had to have rushed over, but he’s smiling, eyes nearly gone with it, and suddenly Michael doesn’t feel as worried. The tension bleeds out of him and he grins back. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Ashton apologizes. His breath is coming out a bit quickly and he’s standing awkwardly in the hallway and the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead shines in the fluorescent lighting. “I got here as fast as I could.”

“No problem, really,” Michael says, allowing himself one last appreciative, non-platonic look at his friend. “You said a meeting ran late?”

“Yeah.” Ashton’s grinning wildly, like he’s the happiest he’s been in awhile, and Michael pulls him into the apartment, shutting the door gently behind him. “They were really impressed with the manuscripts. Said it was some of the most thorough editing they’d ever seen.”

Together they walk a bit further into the apartment and Ashton places his bag on the couch. “That’s amazing!” 

“I thought they were calling me in to fire me, but they offered me the opportunity to work on this new project.” Ashton shakes his head, breath still coming out quickly. Michael raises his eyebrows in question and Ashton laughs breathlessly. “I won’t know what it is until I sign the nondisclosure agreement, but it’s top secret. I’m so excited.” 

“ _ I’m _ excited,” Michael says. It feels like everything’s normal between them, like their tense, drunk kiss and the date disaster never even happened. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Michael lifts his hand up, extending it for a high-five. Ashton returns it, but doesn’t let go right away. He uses his leverage to pull Michael in by the hand, extend his arms, and envelope him is a bone crushing hug. Michael positively melts. 

This is why it’s so hard to tell Ashton. These touches are what makes what they have so special. And whether or not Michael gets to sleep with Ashton, whether he could ever call him his boyfriend, it doesn’t matter when Ashton can hold him like this. It doesn’t matter when Ashton can kiss Michael on his hair and pull back, vibrating with energy, and have such a special light in his eye. 

All that matters is that Michael gets to share these moments with Ashton. 

“So should we get started?” Ashton asks, and for a moment, Michael’s not quite sure what he means. The confusion only lasts a moment though, because the next moment consists of Ashton reaching back and pulling his shirt off and - 

_ Fuck _ .

Michael’s always know Ashton’s had a great body. That’s  _ never  _ been in question. He’s seen his body a few times, even once - in a quick glance - fresh from a shower. But outside the temperature is on the warmer side as of late, and Ashton rushed over, probably running the seven blocks from his office, and he’s barely had any time to cool off - to dry off, really - and now he’s standing shirtless in front of Michael. 

Michael, who’s just about to admit his feelings and bring up two months worth of awkwardness between them. And now he has to do it while Ashton’s shirtless, his sweaty torso honest to God  _ glistening _ . 

And suddenly it’s not just hot outside. 

“W-what are you doing?” Michael manages to stutter out. He feels stuck where he’s standing, his eyes glued to the wet crevices of Ashton’s abdominal, cursing every deity that brought him to the terrifying, arousing moment. 

Ashton looks down at his body and frowns. Michael can see his fist tightening on the navy blue shirt in his hand. “I thought you had to draw on me.” 

“I do.” 

“So I need to be shirtless then.” It’s not a question. Michael really wishes it was though, so he could yell in the negative and demand that Ashton put his shirt back on. 

And then maybe a coat, just for good measure. 

“I mean.” He swallows dry, and it’s only the second most painful part of this moment. “You will, yeah. I was hoping I could talk to you about something first.” 

“We can do that,” Ashton agrees, easy as anything. “Should we go to your room?”

“I - sure.” 

The easiness of earlier is gone, and the worry is back. Michael’s seeing the imbalance in front of him - Ashton’s thinking they’re only friends, behaving platonically, while Michael’s stuck with the knowledge that there’s nobody else in the world he’d rather see shirtless than his friend. 

Ashton leads the way to Michael’s room, and Michael’s stuck with the view of Ashton’s back in front of him, muscles moving with each step, still glazed in a thin layer of sweat, and Michael’s in his own personal hell, following mindlessly as he curses how attractive he can find a  _ back _ of all things as long as it’s attached to Ashton Irwin. 

“Can you put your shirt back on at least?” he asks through a pained voice. “Just…”

Ashton stops suddenly, looking down, and Michael can all but hear his frown. “It’s all sweaty.”

“I, uh.” Michael steps forward, squeezing past Ashton to take the few steps into his room. “I have one you can wear.” 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” The words sounds like a joke, a taunt, but when Michael turns around, he sees just how serious Ashton looks.

“No,” Michael rushes to assure him. ”I don’t want to make  _ you _ uncomfortable.” 

Ashton’s eyebrows furrow in, and Michael spares a thought to hope he’s not that expressive during the rest of their conversation. He’s having a difficult time as it is just talking to the other man when he’s frowning so easily. Michael doesn’t want to see him process - with painstakingly revealing faces. 

“I’m not, I promise.” 

But he  _ will _ be. Ashton’s fine now, but when he hears just how in love with him Michael is, it’s going to be a lot more tense, unbearably strained, between them. When everything comes out, Ashton’s not going to want to be sitting in front of Michael’s wandering eyes, body on full display. 

“Are you alright, Michael?” He asks, eyes holding the sort of sincerity that got them here in the first place. “You don’t look so good. Are you coming down with something again?”

He probably is, he’s probably slowly dying just from the anxiety filling him at what’s to come, but he shakes his head anyway. “No I’m…” he trails off in a sigh. “I’m alright, I promise. I just. I have something to say, and I think we’re both going to be a bit embarrassed by the end of it.” 

It takes a moment, but Michael watches as the recognition flits across Ashton’s face. 

“Oh.”  _ Oh. _ That’s all he can say.  _ Oh _ . “I think I’ll take that shirt, then.” Michael laughs, but there’s no humor in it. It’s full of anguish. The tone isn’t right between them to be making these jokes. They both know where this is going, and it’s not somewhere pretty. 

Michael turns to his dresser and grabs a shirt out of a drawer, not paying much mind to what it is, not really caring, just needing  _ something _ to cover up Ashton’s sinful body. He throws it over to Ashton who puts it on with no hesitation. It fits a bit snug around Ashton’s shoulders and honestly… 

It’s almost worse. 

“I, uh,” Ashton says after the silence has gone on between them long enough. He backs up a bit and sits at the end of the bed. Michael doesn’t join him, doesn’t think he can do much else than just stand in front of his dresser and pick at his nails. “Do you want to talk first?” 

“I guess…” 

Despite saying he’ll talk first, Michael really has no fucking clue what to say. He doesn’t know where to even begin with everything. He doesn’t know whether to come out and say it, or to dance around it for a bit to provide some back story. There’s a million ways and all of them end with both parties feeling uncomfortable and their friendship being tilted on its side. 

The worst part of it all, even worse than the crazy wheel of worry and stress he’s cycling through, is how fucking patient Ashton’s being. He doesn’t look rushed, doesn’t glare, doesn’t try to put his own input in the mix before Michael’s had a chance to say anything. He’s being amicable as ever, sitting and waiting until Michael can find his words. 

His kindness is infuriating. 

“I think you might be my best friend,” Michael says without much thought. The words sink in for both of them and Ashton laughs, but Michael rolls his eyes. “ _ Calum _ is my best friend, obviously, I don’t know why I said that. But you’re a  _ good _ friend. You get me, and when we’re together I don’t ever want to be with anything else.” Ashton bites his lips, his eyes watching Michael closely, and Michael has to hold his breath to prepare to say what he needs to. “And I’ve always been attracted to you, you know that.”

Ashton’s eyebrows raise, his lips parting slightly. “Do I?”

“From the first day we met, yeah.” Michael resist the urge to roll his eyes. “I was trying to pick you up in the moving van.”

“That’s because you’d just started your celibacy thing, right? You were just used to picking people up.” It takes a minute, but when Michael realizes the mix up, his eyes go wide and he stops breathing. 

Holy  _ shit _ . 

It’s been two months of them seeing each other, and in the entire time, he’s been keeping Ashton in the dark. He curses himself for not telling Ashton sooner about  _ why _ he he went celibate, about  _ when _ he went celibate. 

“I have something to tell you.”

Ashton chuckles, but it’s not all the way there, the somber mood taking some of the light from him. “Isn’t that why we’re here?” 

“This is something else,” he says, waving Ashton off. “Something I didn’t  _ think _ I’d ever have to tell you, but you’re a bit confused, so I guess I do.”

“You’re speaking in riddles, Michael. What’s going on?”

With a deep breath, Michael bites the bullet. “When Calum and I helped move Luke in, he mentioned to me that I slept around a lot,” Michael starts from the beginning. “I was in the middle of trying to get you into bed when he said something, and I didn’t like the idea of being the guy that sleeps his way through his twenties.” 

“So you…” Ashton trails off, eyes narrowing with a calculating look as he puts it all together. “You went celibate because of me?”

“It wasn’t personal, though,” Michael insists. 

“Wasn’t it, though?” Ashton’s nose is tilted up and a disgusted scoff comes out alongside his words. He’s hurt. “You didn’t like the idea of sleeping with everyone you meet and it was me that - ”

Michael can see he’s spiralling, can see he’s not understanding. “No, no. Ashton. That’s not it.” 

He’s half expecting Ashton to railroad over him, but Ashton stays seated, eyes watching, waiting, and Michael’s never been more thankful for somebody as he is for Ashton. 

“I didn’t like the idea that I slept with every nice,  _ attractive _ person I met that shared a mutual interest in getting off with me.” He didn’t give it up for everyone, Ashton needs to know that, needs to know that Michael has standards. Standards that Ashton not only meets, but exceeds by miles. “And the idea that I’d never been in a relationship longer than a month was terrifying to me. You really had nothing to do with my decision.”

“Then why didn’t you talk to me for two years - ” In the midst of Ashton’s question, Michael opens his mouth, but Ashton cuts him off before he can speak. “Nineteen months, whatever.”

If ever there were a joke to laugh at, it would be that one. But Ashton’s eyes are slitted and his lips are thinned, clearly not in the mood for jokes. 

“I was  _ really _ attracted to you,” Michael tries to explain. “And I didn’t trust myself not to try and take things further with you.” 

“So because you wanted to sleep with me, you couldn’t be my friend.” 

Michael pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth. Here goes nothing. “I knew, even back then, that if I were friends with you, I’d start pining, and then I’d fall in love with you.”

He doesn’t take the news negatively. Unfortunately, it’s not all that positive. His face is flat, painted in disbelief. “You’re in love with me.” It’s not a question but Michael nods. “Why’d you tell me to go out with Bryana?”

Even though Michael knows things didn’t work out between them, he still hates hearing her name. “Because I know you don’t see me like that, and I just wanted you to know I was alright with that.” 

“With me not liking you?” Ashton asks. It’s said carelessly, and Michael frowns, not liking the way it sounds in Ashton’s voice. 

“I guess, yeah.”

Ashton’s not reacting and it’s a bit jarring, unfitting in the serious conversation they’re trying to get through. He nods twice and stands up and, for a terrifying moment, it looks like he’s going to leave. But then he’s approaching Michael with hard eyes. “You are the most stubborn, hard-headed, brave, strong,  _ genuine _ person I’ve ever met.” Michael’s watching him with wide eyes. He doesn’t know what’s happening, doesn’t know if Ashton’s words are meant to  sound so… reciprocating. “And I’m in love with you too.”

Before Michael can even comprehend what’s just happened, Ashton’s hands are molding themselves around Michael’s neck, and for the second time in his life, Ashton’s magnificent lips are molding themselves against Michael’s. 

For a moment, Michael wants to panic, not out of disapproval or hesitance, but out of sheer surprise. Out of the fact that  _ Ashton _ , Ashton who called him a  _ mistake _ is correctly kissing him. 

And then it all hits him, Ashton’s words, his confession, his  _ tongue _ licking its way into Michael’s mouth, and Michael pushes himself deeper into Ashton’s body, giving as good as he’s getting. 

Just as they’re getting into it, as Michael’s contemplating how easy it would be to move them over to the bed, Ashton pulls back, leaving Michael dazed and chasing after his mouth. He leans his forehead against Michael’s. “I need to know that you’re serious about this, Michael.”

“I am,” Michael whispers back. 

“No, I’m not saying that you’re serious about what you’re saying. I trust that you know yourself. I need to know if you’re willing to get back in the dating world with me. If it’s worth giving up your celibacy.”

It’s no question. Michael’s known for quite a while that Ashton’s the person he’d give it all up for, and just when he was ready to, he thought Ashton didn’t see him that way. Hearing this news, knowing that Michael’s not alone in his feelings - in his  _ intensity _ of these feelings - only further shows him just how ready he is to end this all. He knows he’s doing it for the right reasons. 

“Yes, of course.”

“It’s been twenty months, Michael.” Ashton’s eyes are holding so much sincerity, but Michael has to stop himself from laughing. If anybody knows just how long it’s been, it’s Michael. “You’ve worked hard to get here.” 

“I started it because I lost myself a bit,” Michael explains. “My life was school and sex.”

“But are you sure you want to go back to that?”

The short answer is that Michael is positively throbbing at the idea of having sex with Ashton - it’s two years in the making, after all - but it’s so much more than that. If Ashton never wants to sleep with him, that’s alright because Michael just wants  _ Ashton _ , and he’ll take anything he’s offered. 

“For almost two years, I spent my life studying and taking cold showers. I didn’t even start to find myself again until I found  _ you _ .” At Michael’s words, Ashton bites the inside of his cheek, and Michael kisses the slightly pouting skin. “I was just waiting for you.”

It starts out slow this time, their kissing. As much as Michael wants to hurry and explore every inch of Ashton as he can before time runs out and he wakes up from what  _ has _ to be a dream, he knows that they have time. 

So they go slow. They take their time. They let their hands wander each other’s body, content to just feel, just  _ be _ . It’s not until Michael’s chilled hands make their way under Ashton’s shirt that things stop, Ashton jumping backwards. 

“Oh!” At first, Michael thinks it’s the sudden cold that has Ashton flinching back, but then Ashton’s taking his entire shirt off, and Michael’s left confused. Ashton reads it from Michael’s quirked eyebrow and laughs. “The project.”

Nothing registers for Michael, not when he’s staring at Ashton’s exposed skin. But then he remembers the purpose of them being where they are at all. The ‘project’ being Michael’s upcoming incision exam that he needs to practice for. 

The last thing Michael wants to do is draw marks on Ashton when he could be  _ biting _ marks instead. 

Michael laughs at Ashton’s eagerness to get started.. “That can wait, I think.” 

“No, let’s not rush into anything,” Ashton says, stopping Michael from leaning in and kissing him again. “I came here to help you, so help I will.”

Part of Michael’s ego wants to be bruised that Ashton would rather study than make out, but when he’s smiling like he is, eyes shining, he can’t feel anything less than full of awe for the goofy, ridiculous love of his life. 

“I guess.”

“Should I leave my jeans on?” he asks, thumbing the edge of his pants. 

Michael shakes his head, biting his lip as he watches Ashton undo the button. “Take them off,” he instructs with a grin. “And then just lay back and let me operate.”

“Yes, doctor.” Ashton smirks. It isn’t sexy, but goddamn Michael loves him. 

Ashton strips down, leaving only his boxers on, and he lies on his back on Michael’s bed. Michael does his best not to see the image with sexual connotations - this is all about school work - and grabs a felt tip pen. In the test he’ll have a scalpel with the blade replaced with ink, but this is as close as he’ll get. 

Besides, he knows he’s not going to be able to focus with Ashton’s bare skin under his fingertips. 

So Michael gets to work. He has three different areas he has to be able to accurately mark, exactly where the incision would be made were this a real surgery. The first is the heart, the second is the kidney - there’s technically two marks for that - and the third is the appendix. Michael starts with the heart. 

He keeps his touches feather-light, not wanting to make Ashton uncomfortable, and tries not to breathe too heavily. For something so clinical, it feels extremely intimate. Michael stares intently at Ashton’s chest, probably for longer than necessary, and then slowly lowers his pen to Ashton’s chest. 

Most of his grade is going to be based on his accuracy, whether the line is steady, and how quick he ‘cuts’ the skin. Michael takes a deep breath, double checking that he’s exactly where he needs to be, and slides the pen across Ashton’s skin on an exhale. He presses down a bit harder than he should, but in the end, the line is perfectly straight, in the right location, and not too long. 

That’s where his success ends. 

When he makes his way down Ashton’s torso, just under his left nipple, Michael notices Ashton’s taking deep breaths. He looks up to see Ashton staring at the ceiling, almost too focused. 

It doesn’t matter, Michael decides, putting his attention on where he’s going to have to make the mark. When his left hand slides across Ashton’s side, Ashton groans and Michael’s forced to address it, can’t pay attention when something’s clearly going on. 

“You alright?” His voice comes out with a slight tremble, but it’s nothing compared to the shakiness of Ashton’s gasp. 

“Your hands,” he says. “They’re so soft.” 

Michael’s not sure what he means by it, why he’s having such a reaction, but he lets it be, not wanting to make Ashton explain when he’s already so short with his answers. So he gets back to the left kidney, taking in a breath and drawing the line on the exhale. 

The line was in the right area and wasn’t too long, but the end of it had a shake to it. That’s not a failing grade, but it’s not good. He curses under his breath and gets to work on the second one. 

As he’s looking over the area, he can’t help but notice that his hand has a slight shake to it. It’s just like when he played pool with Ashton all those weeks ago, and it’s the worst thing to happen to him at this point. 

“Just focus on the work, Michael,” Ashton tells him suddenly, noticing his distraction. It doesn’t help him because at the same time he says it, Michael looks down and sees Ashton’s cock, half-hard in his boxers. 

With a slight gasp, Michael lets out a quiet, “ _ Oh _ .” He didn’t think it would affect Ashton, and definitely not like this, but the evidence is right in front of him, and Michael suddenly wants to get his hand around it. 

“The  _ work _ ,” Ashton repeats through gritted teeth. 

Michael takes in another deep breath, though at this point it’s basically just panting, and sets his attention on the right kidney. No matter how hard he tries, though, he can’t get his hand to stop shaking. When he sets it against Ashton’s skin and makes the line, the shake is visible translated through the ink. 

That  _ is _ a failing grade. 

It’s fine, he lies to himself. He only has one more mark to make. 

When he smooths his hand against the skin of Ashton’s hip, his pinky accidentally pulls on the edge of the boxers. The cotton of them must pull against his skin because right before Michael’s eyes, Ashton’s cock twitches, looking thick and inviting. 

Michael groans, letting his head fall against Ashton’s torso. “I can’t anymore,” he whines. When he lifts his head up, Ashton’s looking at him through hooded eyes. “I just need - ” Before he can finish, Ashton leans up, pulling Michael against his skin, and kissing him. Michael melts with it, moaning into Ashton’s mouth. 

In a fit of inspiration and pure arousal, he throws the pen across the room, and lies on the bed, his body lining up half on top of Ashton’s body. He doesn’t give a shit about his grades right now, not when everything he’s ever wanted is underneath him, hard and hard-up. 

“Can you - ” Michael tries to ask when they’ve been at it for a bit, but Ashton’s lips fall on Michael’s again. “Would you - ” Ashton bites his lower lip and pulls back with it still between his teeth. “Can you fuck me?” he finally gets out. 

Ashton’s shocked still, no longer trying to lean in. His lips are parted, eyes black where they bore into Michael’s. “Are you sure.”

“Positive,” Michael says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“But it’s been so long - ”

“We’ve been over this already,” Michael insists. He leans in to continue kissing, but Ashton isn’t responsive, doesn’t give anything back. Michael huffs and leans back. “What is it?” 

Ashton’s staring at him with glass eyes, his hand easing its grip on Michael’s closed thigh like if he even touches too hard Michael will break. “I don’t want you to regret it. I want you to be sure.”

His voice is soft, and Michael knows it’s more than just the sex he’s worried about. It’s everything they’ve done leading up to this point, all of the time they’ve spent together, the journey they’ve taken to loving each other, and Ashton’s worried about it disappearing. 

“I’m not going to regret you,” Michael tells him, making sure to lower his voice, ceasing his wandering hands so Ashton knows he’s being sincere. “If that’s what you’re worried about, then don’t.”

“As long as you’re sure.”

It’s the third time he’s used that word, and Michael’s over it. “If you ask me if I’m sure one more time, I’m going to fuck myself right in front of you and not let you touch.” 

It doesn’t scare Ashton into submission or having him rush to apologize, but it does work to shut him up. He leans forward, his tongue immediately parting Michael’s lips, groaning into his mouth. “That sounds so hot.” Michael opens his mouth, ready to protest, to push them towards the main event, but Ashton continues, “Not tonight, not tonight. But soon.” 

Michael pulls him in, and together they work to get Michael undressed, Ashton’s hands climbing up Michael’s shirt while Michael’s hands fall into his sweats, pushing them down while trying to keep his mouth on Ashton’s not ready to let it go. 

“Wait, wait.” Michael pulls back just before Ashton’s hand can make its way to Michael’s boxers. “One moment.” 

He races out of the room, leaving behind a confused and aroused Ashton. He barges into Calum's room, breathing a sigh of relief that it’s empty and he won’t have to explain his harried appearance, and goes to the side table drawer. He pushes past the cords and empty snack wrappers for the box of condoms at the bottom. He knows they aren’t expired, not with how often Michael hears Luke’s moans through the walls, and he grabs two for good measure before closing the drawer and making his way back to Ashton. 

“What - ”

Not letting Ashton ask his question, Michael throws himself on the bad with a wide grin, shoving the condoms into Ashton’s chest, and connecting their lips in one breath. 

He’s waited two fucking years. He’s not wasting any time. 

He’s not letting them get lost in kissing, no matter how outstanding and distracting Ashton is with his tongue, so he grinds himself down against Ashton. He only drops himself twice before Ashton’s hands are wrapping themselves under Michael’s arm and cupping the back of his head as he flips them over. 

It all happens so fast that all Michael does is blink and suddenly he’s looking up at Ashton’s beautifully flushed face. Michael thinks he looks like an angel - at least, until he asks, “Lube?” and Michael realizes he’s a fucking god, about to grant his every last wish. 

Michael throws his hand towards the nightstand, not giving too much effort towards pointing, but Ashton gets the hint, leaning over, off of Michael’s body, and slapping the condoms on top of the stand. Then he opens the drawer and starts to reach in. 

“You have quite the collection,” he comments, sounding uninterested, but Michael knows what he’s seeing, knows the various colors and sizes of sex toys. There’s no way he’s unmoved by seeing them. 

“Twenty months,” Michael says in way of explanation. He refuses to feel ashamed about it. “Hurry up.”

As Ashton pulls the lube out, Michael works his boxers down his legs, kicking them off. He feels a bit rushed, ready to get things started, so he spreads his legs on either side of Ashton and tilts his hips. His cock is lying heavily against his stomach, and he hopes it’s enough to motivate Ashton to get things moving. 

It’s not. 

While tonight may be the first time Michael’s getting off with someone other than himself, wanting to get to the good stuff now, Ashton’s behaving much differently. 

He takes in Michael’s eagerness with a chuckle, making sure to take his time in uncapping the lube and drizzling it on his fingers. Just when Michael thinks he’s going to start, he rubs his fingers together. He’s warming the lube, and while Michael would like to think it’s all for Michael’s comfort, the smirk on Ashton’s face says differently. 

He’s  _ teasing  _ Michael. 

When he finally rubs his fingers against Michael’s hole, Michael can’t hold in the sigh of relief. It’s not that he wants this over with - not at all - he’s just waited so fucking long for this to happen, and every moment that Ashton isn’t inside of him is time wasted. 

Ashton traces his hole a few times before the first finger starts to make its way in. Though it’s been nearly two years since Michael’s last been fucked, every once in a while, when he has a few hours of free time, he gets lost in the feeling of opening himself up, so when Ashton’s finger applies a blunt pressure, Michael relaxes, helping it slide in. 

The first finger never feels like much more than an uncomfortable intrusion, but Ashton’s fingers are thicker than his own, and he seems determined to make Michael feel good. Within moments of being inside, Ashton’s searching out Michael’s prostate. And when he finds it, rubbing a maddening circle around it, Michael lets out a sweet, airy moan, and his body goes lax under Ashton’s hands.

Ashton takes the opportunity to press in a second finger, stretching them wide and turning Michael into putty. He stops the attack on Michael’s prostate then, seemingly only using it as a tactic to help him loosen up, and starts opening him up. 

It’s not that he has no stamina anymore - he has plenty - it’s just that after so long of only getting himself off, being at the mercy of someone else’s hands has him submitting to his own arousal quicker than usual, and when Ashton adds yet another finger, Michael’s body completely melts into the mattress, dizzy with the feeling of being full. 

His three fingers are pressing in deep, spreading wide, and pulling back out in quick movements that leave Michael aching for more. Ashton’s cleverly avoiding his prostate, managing to slide his fingers against it every once in awhile only to pull them away and look up at Michael, amusement dancing behind his eyes. 

Maybe sometime in the future, Michael can get him back, can keep him on the edge of something great only to give him nothing in the end. It’s a good plan, but he can’t make good on it today. All he can make himself do is lie back and take the torture. He’s all but melting into the mattress, completely useless and at Ashton’s mercy, reduced to all of this by just three thick fingers and Ashton’s eyes taunting him. 

“One day,” Ashton says suddenly, voice a rasp against Michael’s hip. “I’ll get you back like this, maybe on your knees like a good boy.” Michael whines without realizing. He didn’t even know that was something that would turn him on so much. “I’ll spread you out and get my mouth on you.”

Michael’s nodding with every word, he wants it so  _ bad _ , and Ashton takes the distraction to shove his pinky in beside his other fingers.

“ _ Fu-uck _ .” 

Ashton chuckles, the sound vibrating against Michael’s thigh. “You like that idea, Mikey? I’ll take my time, I swear. Be selfless and eat you out until you only know my name and the feeling of my tongue inside you.” 

He doesn’t know he’d gone so long without sex, not when Ashton’s been here all along, every one of Michael’s wettest fantasies wrapped into one. He’s throbbing everywhere, drooling most likely, and completely lost in the feeling of Ashton’s fingers fucking into him. 

Wanting just a bit more, something to push him to the edge, he reaches down to grab his cock, maybe give it a pump or two, but Ashton’s free hand wrapping around his wrist, stopping him from making contact. 

“Not yet, babe,” Ashton says, guiding Michael’s wrist until it’s pressed into the mattress. “I want to feel you come on my cock.” 

“Jesus - ”

Michael’s already a wreck already, and he has no doubt that this is going to be over before it can begin. But then Ashton pulls his fingers out and it’s  _ devastating _ . It’s the worst emptiness he thinks he’s ever felt. 

“Fuck me, Ash,” His words are blurring together, quick slurs falling out of his mouth. “Make me come.” 

His order isn’t met with a hand on his cock. Ashton only chuckles. “Remember what you told me, babe? You’re in control. We’re gonna put you on top.”

Michael moans, mostly in upset. The last thing he wants to do is move. He only wants to take it at this point. “I - I can’t. I don’t - ”

“Oh, but you can.” The expectancy in Ashton’s voice is incredibly hot to hear and Michael really just wishes Ashton would fuck him already. 

Ashton falls next to Michael on his back, the mattress bouncing slightly at the impact. Michael turns his head over to see Ashton’s rid himself of his boxers and his cock is standing tall. It’s big, just like Michael predicted, but it’s thick too. It’s so fucking  _ thick _ and Michael’s empty hole throbs at the promise of having it inside of him. 

It’s no wonder Ashton took his sweet goddamn time stretching Michael. 

Ashton reaches out to the nightstand and grabs the condom, opening it and rolling it over his dick easily. Michael watches as he spreads some lube on himself, not stopping when it’s covered, instead he keeps going, his eyebrow raised at Michael in question, waiting for Michael to get moving, to get on top of him and sit on his dick. 

He doesn’t want to give in, especially not with Ashton looking as smug as he does, stroking his own cock like he doesn’t need Michael to get himself off, like he didn’t just bring Michael to the edge of everything he’s been needing for the past two years and pull him back with nothing but a laugh and a challenge. He doesn’t want to give in, but he does. He can’t stop himself, pulling himself up and throwing his leg over Ashton’s waist with a grunt. 

It’s seeming like they’ve only just begun, an entire catalogue of boxes still left to tick off, and already Michael’s exhausted, ready to let go and pass out. He reaches down, wanting to line himself up and get started, but he sways forward a bit too far, and Ashton’s rough hands grab gently at his hips, keeping him from falling. 

“Easy there.” Ashton’s voice is deep, his hands are tense, and Michael’s eyes are heavy. 

With Ashton’s help, Michael manages to line Ashton’s cock up with his hole and he begins to sink down. It’s tough, the resistance, something he never had this much of an issue with, but he takes his time and does his best to relax. 

The head breeches the tight ring of muscle, and Michael’s immediate reaction is to laugh. It’s airy, laced with a moan, but it’s there, full of surprise and joy. And then he sinks lower, Ashton’s length filling him up slowly, stretching him wide, and he wants to cry in relief. 

It’s been so long that for a while, Michael didn’t know if he’d feel comfortable sleeping with anybody ever again, but now? He couldn’t imagine going another day without Ashton’s cock steadily making its way inside him. 

Longer than it usually takes, he bottoms out. When he’s finally sitting flush on Ashton’s dick it’s a moment of pride for him. He’s panting, a moan barely coming out at the end of each breath. He feels so full, slightly painful, but in the best way. 

He needs time to adjust, to let his body get used to the feeling of total euphoria again, before he can start fucking himself. Before he gets to that point though, his arms give out from where they’re holding him up on Ashton’s abdomen, and he’s falling into Ashton’s chest. 

He makes contact, his cheek directly in the center of Ashton’s chest, and Ashton begins squirming at the new angle. Michael can’t pick himself up yet. It’s too overwhelming with the new feelings, and he curses himself for not being able to meet Ashton’s needs right away. 

“I’m not selfish, I’m not selfish,” Michael pants against Ashton’s chest. Ashton laughs. “I promise I’m better than this.” He tries to pick himself up, but he’s so tight around Ashton and it feels so wonderful in a familiar, yet nostalgic, way that he falls back down with a moan. “I’m - I’ll…” 

Ashton’s rubbing his hips, which is helping him adjust but it’s not doing anything to quell his arousal and help him take a step back from how tightly wound he is. 

“You’re doing great, babe,” Ashton encourages, his thumbs rubbing lightly against Michael’s hip. Michael groans, can feel himself reacting to it. “So tight.” Michael clenches again and Ashton curses, squeezing his hand harder and grinding up into Michael. 

Michael moans an airy, “ _ Yeah _ ,” and plants his hands on Ashton’s shoulders. He’s not exactly full of energy, but the promise of having Ashton squirming under him is enough to push himself up. 

With Ashton’s help, of course. 

“It’s been awhile,” Michael teases as he sits still balancing himself. 

Ashton laughs easily, but it comes out husky. “You don’t say.”

“Two years - ”

“Twenty months.” It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a joke that was never that funny to begin with, but it still makes Michael smile like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. 

Fuck, he’s so in love. 

“I’d kiss you right now if it didn’t take so much effort to get back up here.” He says it offhandedly, but Ashton doesn’t hesitate to lean up, “ _ Oh _ \- ” and claim Michael’s lips between his own. 

It works to ease the tension in Michael’s body, to get lost in the kissing and let Ashton’s tongue fuck its way into his mouth. When he feels settled enough, he lifts himself up a bit and drops back down, resulting in a groan from both of them. Michael can’t go as high as he wants to right away, but with Ashton right there, letting him do it at his own speed, he can work up to it. 

He picks himself up and falls back down a few times. It feels alright, but it’s not what Michael wants, not what he  _ needs _ . He tries to go harder, faster, but after lifting himself once, his drop knocks Ashton away from his lips and onto his elbows. Michael follows easily, not letting his lips part from Ashton’s for too long. 

He’s spent two months watching Ashton’s lips as he drank wine and bit them down mindlessly, not even realizing how insane he was driving Michael. Having them in front of him is an offer he can’t pass up. 

They get a rhythm going - slowly, but they do. Michael works his hips, clenching when he bottoms out, pulling up and dropping himself, only to clench again. He lets himself get lost in the feeling, of Ashton’s lips on his, of his dick under him for Michael to ride. 

He lifts up too high at one point, pulling off completely, and it’s entirely frustrating. Ashton’s hands come up to Michael’s hips to help him again, but Michael slaps them away. “Don’t need your help.”

Ashton licks his lips as he watches Michael fit the head of Ashton’s dick against his hole, groaning when he drops down. 

“You gonna be selfish then?” Ashton asks through a groan. “Take what you want from me?” 

Michael moans because  _ fuck _ . They’ve not even been together for an hour, and Ashton already knows exactly what he wants, knows what to say to have him throwing himself harder down on Ashton. 

They work together. Michael knew they could be together as friends, spending time together and enjoying each other’s company, but knowing they’re so compatible sexually is just the topping on the cake. It makes the weeks of wondering worth it. 

Ashton’s dick alone makes two years of celibacy worth it. 

Michael works harder then, searching for the right angle. His lips have gotten lazy, stopped moving so he’s just panting against Ashton’s mouth. His left arm is holding onto Ashton’s shoulder, and his right is scratching down Ashton’s chest as he throws his body into it, working himself over, just hoping he can finish them both off without Ashton’s help. 

He can’t though. It’s something he admits in defeat, with tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. He’s close, wants to come, to really make the end of his celibacy official, but he can’t do it on his own. 

When it’s too much work, when Michael’s close and Ashton’s thrusting up more than Michael’s working, he falls forward, pushing them both flat. Michael’s riding stops, but Ashton’s keeps him working in a slow grind that has Michael moaning sweetly into Ashton’s chest. 

“Flip us over,” he demands through a gasp. Ashton hums like a question, decidedly  _ not _ flipping them over. “Flip over, take control.”

Ashton chuckles. His hands are sweaty where they’re trying to grip Michael’s hip. “Why would I do that?” Michael can’t pick himself back up, can only clench and hope it’s convincing enough to get Ashton to do the work. “I thought you didn’t need my help.” In his head, Michael curses himself for ever saying that. He does need help, he  _ does.  _

And he knows just how to get it. 

He looks up at Ashton slowly, both of their eyes dark, Ashton’s hips working slowly inside Michael as if he’s enjoying taking his time. He won’t be for long. 

“Be selfish, Daddy.” Michael’s voice is soft, and he knows he’s smirking when Ashton’s hips jump at the name. “Take what you want, alright?” Ashton doesn’t immediately move so Michael runs his teeth gently against Ashton’s nipple, whispering a rough, “ _ Daddy, _ ” and then he’s on his back again.

And Ashton doesn’t start slow. 

He puts his hips to work, slamming home inside Michael with perfectly brutal thrusts. It’s aggressive and wonderful, and Michael has to do what he can to hold on when Ashton’s dick rubs past Michael’s prostate. When Michael’s fingers begin to make indents in Ashton’s back with how hard he’s holding on, Ashton’s head finds its way into Michael’s neck, whispering nonsense between biting kisses. 

Michael’s close. He can feel his climax in every inch of his body - building and approaching, and he can’t even breath with how tightly he’s wound up. 

If he could touch himself, even for a second, he knows he’d be good, but he can’t, not when Ashton’s going so hard, hips thrusting with an intensity that has Michael digging his blunt nails into Ashton’s back, holding on so he can take everything Ashton’s giving him. He’d says something, asks for Ashton to bring him off, but the only thing coming out of Michael’s mouth is an endless stream of moans, a song sung perfectly to the tune of Ashton’s fucking. 

Something changes, and Ashton suddenly changes the angle so the head of his cock is hitting Michael’s prostate dead on. It doesn’t do much to push him over, but it gets him closer. He feels like he’s riding a roller coaster up, waiting for it to hit its crest, but it never comes, only keeps building. 

And building. 

And building. 

Ashton’s teeth scrape harshly against the column of Michael’s neck, and the pleasure-pain of it has him crying out unintelligible nonsense. It’s all so good,  _ too _ good, that it’s almost overwhelming. 

There’s a moment, right as Michael’s on the verge of going insane, that Ashton’s hips slow a bit - still fucking into him, but not as consistent as a moment ago - and his torso lifts, and Michael thinks he may be pulling out, ending it before Michael can even hit his peak, but then Ashton’s hand comes between them and wraps around Michael’s cock, and everything goes white. 

His mind seems to fade away, pulled out of his body as he paints the space between their torsos white. There’s a high pitched whine buzzing in Michael’s ears that he doesn’t realize is his own voice until he’s gasping and it stops. His entire body melts into the bed, loosening from the tension he’s been holding for the past while. 

He’s not come by anything but his own hand for nearly two years, and Ashton’s rough calloused hand was the song of a siren calling him home. 

With Michael’s orgasm taken care of, Ashton takes it as a sign to chase his own. He grabs Michael’s hips, tilting them at a deeper angle - Michael’s certain he feels his back muscle pop a bit - and slides home. 

His thrusts are much harder, more rough, and quicker, clearly looking after himself now. Michael reaches for the head board, pushing his hand out to keep him from moving too far up the bed with Ashton’s intensity. If he didn’t feel so physically drained from everything, Michael thinks his cock would be getting hard again just at Ashton’s determination. 

Suddenly, the hands around Michael’s hips get tight - his grip bruising, something that Michael will enjoy feeling in the morning - and Ashton’s hips stutter forward a few times before he goes still, his head burying deeply into Michael’s chest as he releases. 

Then everything is still and blood is rushing past his head. Ashton’s breathing into his neck and Michael feels like he can’t breathe, but in the most satisfied way possible. 

They lie together in a sated silence until Ashton mumbles a few garbled words into Michael’s collarbone. 

“I didn’t catch that,” he says, laughing when his voice comes out raspy through his panting. 

Ashton groans, and it takes effort for him to push himself up so he’s hovering over Michael with his elbow on the bed. “I said I meant everything I said.” Michael reaches up and pushes Ashton’s hair off his forehead, grinning when he leans into it. “I don’t want you to think this was all a ploy to get you into bed. I meant it when I said I loved you.”

There was never a bit of him that doubted it. Ashton’s never been the kind of person to say something he didn’t mean - he’s too genuine a person to do that. Michael just smiles and lets his hand drop from Ashton’s forehead to his cheek. “I love you too,  _ Daddy _ .”

Ashton groans at the nickname, planting his face in Michael’s chest. His lips go against the middle of Michael’s sternum and he kisses the skin softly. 

Michael’s heart pounds in his chest. 

“I should’ve never told you about that,” Ashton says with a laugh. “I regret it.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“If I had any energy left, I’m sure I’d get hard again,” he teases. 

Michael laughs, letting Ashton roll off of him, removing the condom and throwing it in the bedside trash. He lies down on his side and pulls Michael so they’re face to face. He kisses Michael’s forehead. 

“I don’t normally fall into bed on the first date, you know,” Michael tells him in a hushed voice, not able to do anything but grin. 

“This wasn’t a date,” Ashton says with a straight face, but Michael laughs regardless. Ashton just watches Michael, eyes soft. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

It doesn’t feel like it does when the people in the bar say it. Because with Ashton, he knows it’s not his appearance, it’s his soul. It’s everything about him. He knows Ashton’s not trying to pick him up or talk him about - he means it, and Michael feels it. 

➻

When June rolls around with warm weather and weekend tourists crowding every bar, Michael finishes his second year of medical school, maintaining his place on the Dean’s list.

It’s not the only good news as far as careers go - Ashton has also managed to keep his job, and he’s spectacular there. Long gone are the stressed phone calls to Michael, a flutter of panic that he’s missing something or overthinking his work. 

To reward themselves, just as they said they would on one of their first non-dates back in late March, they get tattoos. For a brief moment, they’d talked about getting matching tattoos, or at least complementary ones, but that idea was shot down when Calum and Luke enthusiastically went into a forty minute discussion of how all four of them should get matching ones, and Ashton and Michael decided they didn’t want to be that annoying yet. 

They could wait a few years to get on that level. 

Michael’s decided to get his first, since it was his idea in the first place, and Calum begged to come along. It wasn’t a problem, really, as they were going in the daylight when the shop would be relatively empty, but Michael was still only allowed one person with him at the artist’s station, and of course he picked Ashton to be there, which led to Calum sitting by the window, reading through the shop’s portfolio’s pouting aggressively.

The artist is currently applying the stencil of Michael’s tattoo - a raven on his thigh - and Ashton’s watching closely. Whether it’s because of the subject of the art or the placement on his leg, Michael doesn’t know, but he’s not going to complain about having his boyfriend’s adoring eyes on him. 

“You know,” Ashton says casually, his voice quiet but still slightly echoing through the empty building. Michael glances over, his attention easily drawn from his shin. “Not to accuse you of anything because I would  _ never _ .” 

“Of course not,” Michael adds cheekily, too in love with Ashton not to smile at his exaggeration. 

Ashton hums, eyes drifting up to Michael as he smiles, then going back to the art. “But I’ve always been compared to a raven.”

“Oh have you?” 

“I have,” Ashton agrees. 

The two stare at each other, uncontainably silly grins on their faces, sharing a moment, just one of many they get to have as a couple, but it only lasts for a few moments before Calum's bitter voice is cutting harshly through their bubble. “By  _ who _ ?”

Ashton laughs easily as anything, not bothered, but Michael’s not as cavalier about him getting mocked, and he can’t hold back his glare. “Shut up, Calum.” He holds his glower, even as Calum goes pack to flipping through his booklet, feeling protective, until the tattoo artist slaps his thigh lightly. 

“Alright, bro.” The artist rolls his chair back a bit, stretching his back as he does. “If you want to look in the mirror, make sure it’s alright.”

With Ashton’s help, Michael manages to get out of the chair smoothly. He moves carefully, keeping out the way of the furniture and equipment - and holding the leg of his boxers - so none of it touches the purple inked stencil as he walks over to the stand up mirror. It’s closer to the front of the store, and Michael can see people passing by, peeking in through the tall glass windows. 

Before Michael gets a chance to even really get a look at the tattoo placement, Ashton drops to the ground, crouching as he squeezes his cheek as closely to Michael’s thigh as he can. “Does it look like me?” 

Michael giggles, fisting the shoulder of Ashton’s shirt and pulling him up so they can  _ really  _ get a look at the raven. Ashton steps behind him and wraps his arms around Michael’s stomach and together they look. 

They really make a pretty picture, Michael can’t help but think. He’s always known Ashton was attractive, and he’d heard enough about himself to not be insecure, but seeing them like this, standing together like a real couple… He never knew he could have so much love in his heart. 

Michael watches as Ashton’s eyebrows furrow, pulling his plump bottom lip between his teeth. He’s looking intensely at the raven on Michael’s leg, head tilting as he must be considering something, and Michael wants to laugh. He knows the tattoo is fine, the placement was visibly perfect even in the chair. All Michael wants to do is watch Ashton. 

Ashton, who seems to be deep in thought, mouth pursing as he steps slightly back, possibly getting a new angle on it. Overall, it’s quite an entertaining show for Michael. 

“Looks great,” Ashton eventually says, nodding once as he makes his decision. 

“Yeah, we do.” 

At Michael’s agreement, Ashton looks up, eyes wide, taking in the adoration Michael’s holding in his eyes. His shock melts into a smile, a pure, genuine happiness as the two stare at each other through the mirror. 

Michael’s so full of love, and he wishes he had more time to enjoy it, but Calum must get sick of their display and loudly gags. “You both are  _ nauseating _ .” 

“You lived in Luke’s lap for the first year you dated,” Michael snaps. Ashton’s smiling at the insult Calum threw, but Michael wants to defend him. 

“I still do sometimes.” 

Michael cringes, disgusted at the blatant sexuality in the comment just by the smirk on Calum's face, but the wince doesn’t last long. Ashton kisses his scrunched up nose, and it feels like everything coming together. This is how things are supposed to be - Calum being a nuisance like he’s always been, but Ashton’s here now to make things better just by being there, by being  _ him _ . 

He was so goddamn worth the wait. 

**Author's Note:**

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